


Ignis

by Swirlyer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Alcoholic Grantaire, Drama, Fire, M/M, Mental Instability, Pining, Pyromania, Pyromaniac Enjolras, Rating will change, Slow Build, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swirlyer/pseuds/Swirlyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't be sure how long I can keep this up, Grantaire. It gets worse everyday. And ... If it gets to the point where I could endanger someone, I need you to make sure the authorities know. It's ... It's not a matter of making sure I don't. It's a matter of making sure I can be stopped when — when I do."</p><p>Enjolras hated the way his voice sounded small, so broken. He was the picture of defeat, his shoulders slumped and brows furrowed in wary exhaustion. Grantaire wasn't saying anything.</p><p>"Can you do that for me?"<br/>*<br/>Enjolras is a pyromaniac. Grantaire is enlisted to stop him when he gets out of control. It's going to be a long road to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The urge was unlike anything else.

It was like an unscratched itch, one that would persist for days and refused to go away, no matter how much he tried not to think of it. Enjolras dealt with it everyday for as long as he could remember, and he liked to believe he knew all the tricks to ignoring it.

On good days, it was like he could pretend he was the perfect and flawless student he was perceived to be. The handsome law student with exemplary grades, and a passionate drive for doing the right thing; some would assume he was an example, what with starting his own activist group and spirited personality. He came from a rich family, knew how to behave, and yet they couldn't be so wrong. 

On the worse days, there were times when he almost pulled his hair out fighting against the urge. It seemed the older he got, the more unbearable it had become. The more pressing the itch. All he could think about was the heat and smoke and fire, his fingers twitching occasionally in aborted movements to reach for a lighter he no longer had.

He'd sit in class, idly staring at nothing, trying and failing to pay attention when his thoughts were on anything else but education. 

On those days, sometimes it was best for him to not get out of bed. Courfeyrac would call Jehan over, and they'd make tea and talk to him, even when Enjolras wanted to scream that he wasn't _depressed_ , he was a growing pyromaniac, getting worse every day.

It even followed him into his dreams. Huge fires surrounding him, the smell of smoke and ash scorching his lungs, making him cough in agony and pleasure. Sometimes the fire took place in forests, other times in buildings, establishments. It was horrible. 

The worse part was that those were the nights he slept best.

He'd wake up, ashamed and disgusted and so sickeningly satisfied at the images of fire in his head, the smell of smoke not leaving his nose until hours after he'd woken up.

Few of his friends knew the problem he was facing, his 'depression'. Combeferre, Jehan and Courfeyrac were the only ones who were around him enough to notice the changes in his behavior when the itch was present. Enjolras was more subdued on those days, keeping his thoughts to himself and his actions limited.

The thought of hurting someone because of his obsession was unbearable.

They assumed he was depressed, his fiery personality suddenly turning to quiet and expressionless apathy. It was a reasonable assumption, and they'd tried to convince him to get help for it on several occasions.

It was a bad day, and Enjolras had yet to get out of bed. Instead, he stared morosely at the ceiling after sending away Jehan and his offer of tea. Enjolras scrubbed a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling with the same listless look. He wanted to get up, be useful somehow.

He knew better.

Enjolras didn't like feeling this helpless, this trapped by his own dangerous obsession. He wished he could just forget it, like it was some passing fancy that he no longer needed to acknowledge.

He rolled over to stare at the wall, his phone chiming with a text message from Courfeyrac that was just a ":)". Enjolras hated worrying his friends more than anything, because he knew it was stupid. If they knew, they wouldn't be so quick to feel sorry for him.

Enjolras almost wished it was depression, because then it would be treatable. Then he could tell his friends, finally admit to it, and take up their offers to find people to help him. 

There wasn't very much known about what caused a pyromaniac to be obsessed with fire, or if it was even a mental illness. Enjolras felt like it was, but it wasn't like he could go out and offer himself up to study and risk being deemed too unsafe to be allowed in the outside world. He could handle this. 

There was a distant roaring in his ears, and that's when Enjolras knew he needed to do something about himself. He needed someone to watch him, check in with him daily to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. It was getting worse, and he no longer trusted himself like he used to. 

What he needed was someone who would understand, and yet have no pity. Someone loyal, someone Enjolras could trust with his personal well being. It would be a hard decision, because while Enjolras trusted all of his friends with his life, he knew that certain things could only go so far. He didn't want to burden anybody, but it seemed like a necessary evil if he wanted to make sure he could get through this.

There was only one person who could know, Enjolras thought with a sickening realization.

He hoped Grantaire would take him seriously, for once.

*****

  
Enjolras didn't feel it today, the urge, more like a distant hum in the back of his mind that was manageable, easy to ignore. He wished it could be like this all the time, especially on days when they had meetings. He needed to focus on his cause, but it was so hard when all he wanted to see was everything burning.

After the meeting, Enjolras lingered. He didn't usually do so, finding he had more pressing and useful ways to spend his time than drinking with his friends, but something made him stay.

Grantaire was in the back, throwing back another sip of his cheap beer and lazily smiling at something Bossuet said. They laughed raucously when Grantaire said something back, the pale column of his neck exposed as his shoulders shook.

A borderline alcoholic, Grantaire knew the urge, the itch like none of their friends would. If there was a person among their friends who would understand, who would have no pity and yet be sympathetic, it would be Grantaire.

But they were different. Grantaire indulged himself in his desires. Enjolras couldn't bear the thought of even flicking on a lighter, a trick he'd done in high school to get through the long hours of class. He'd always gone to restroom when he was most stressed, flick on the lighter and watch the flame duly.

Until he almost set the paper towel dispenser on fire. To this day, Enjolras still couldn't remember if it had been an accident or not, but it was senior year anyways, and the lighter trick was no longer helpful, but dangerous.

It was hard at first, avoiding fire and the mention of it at all costs, but now Enjolras was almost used to it. Now it was just a desire and obsession that he refused to let himself have.

Enjolras didn't realize he'd been staring at Grantaire for so long until the dark haired man's eyes were on his, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Instead of looking away as fast as he could, Enjolras merely blinked, an academic interest on his face.

Perhaps they were different, but that didn't rule out the possibility of Grantaire's companionship. Enjolras had no false hopes about him overcoming his obsession. He knew that for as long as he lived, he'd always feel it, the obsession with fire.

That's what made it all the more necessary to have someone who would watch him, like a loyal dog to a master. Enjolras knew about Grantaire's feelings for him, going on two years now. Anyone who could claim to be in love for that long would never betray him, making him all the more the best candidate for what Enjolras needed.

Abruptly, Enjolras stood. He walked towards Grantaire's table, Bossuet giving him an oblivious smile and gesturing to a chair.

"Here to join the cool table? There's no initiation," The bald man said welcomingly.

But Enjolras shook his head, forever stoic. He leaned down, enough so that his lips were nearly on Grantaire's ear, and he could feel the man shiver beneath him at the sudden proximity. "Grantaire, can I speak to you outside?" His voice was a faint whisper.

"Uh, yeah, just let me," Grantaire began, reaching for his half-full bottle with plans to finish it off. Enjolras sighed in frustration, grabbed the damned thing and gulped it down in three quick sips, wincing at the bitter taste.

"Now," Enjolras demanded, all business. He set the bottle down onto the wooden table with perhaps a little more force than necessary.

Bossuet and Grantaire were staring at him with both admiration and incredulity. "Holy fuck. All right, now."

When they were finally outside, Enjolras rolling his eyes at the mouthed 'help me' directed at Courfeyrac that Grantaire thought he wouldn't see, they were standing in front of the Musain, where any passerby might fancy to eavesdrop on them.

It was raining slightly, an almost imperceptible drizzle that was more of a nuisance than anything else. The sky overhead was grey and dreary, accenting the bags under Grantaire's eyes and the tired glaze there. It wasn't the first time Enjolras wanted to ask what was wrong, and if he could help. Enjolras shook his head against those thoughts. He couldn't even help  _himself_.

Enjolras frowned, his expression pinched. "Not here. Someone might overhear."

"Are you a government spy? Since when did you care about what people think?" Grantaire was staring at him like he'd grown two heads.

"Since it might get me into a psychiatric hospital," Enjolras replied, briefly assessing his surroundings. There was an alley between the Musain and the building next to it, making the perfect place to have a private conversation without prying ears. Grantaire stared at him, mouth gaping. "Come on."

"And now we're going into suspicious dark alleys. I'm just waiting for you to grow antennae right now," Grantaire said, incapable of going two minutes without making a sarcastic joke or jibe.

Enjolras gave him a flat look, pulling him by the wrist into the dark alley and looking around warily. No windows, no people, and the acoustics were terrible. "This should do."

"You do realize you're being weird as fuck, right? Is this how you usually make friends?"

"We're not friends," Enjolras said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. Grantaire's eyes were on his a moment ago, but at that they slid down to the floor. 

Grantaire leaned against the alley wall, the brick undoubtedly cold, but he didn't look uncomfortable. "All right, so you've dragged me into a shady alley, mentioned mental illness, and downed about half my bottle of beer. What have you done with the real Enjolras?"

"There is no real Enjolras," Enjolras snapped, then took a deep calming breath. "Well, there is. But nobody would know."

Grantaire's hazel eyes were on him again at that, snapping up like they were summoned. The color of his eyes weren't the same, one was noticeably darker than the other, more brown compared to the other's greenish hue. Enjolras both admired and envied them, though he knew Grantaire hated his eyes.

He looked interested, and perhaps a little aroused. But that expression wasn't anything new to Enjolras, he'd seen on Grantaire's face thousands of time, directed at him while he was giving a fiery speech or in the middle of one of their long debates. Enjolras knew how much Grantaire wanted him.

To his credit though, Grantaire didn't seem very intent on giving his lust attention at that moment. "Are you... okay? You're being weird as hell right now."

"No," Enjolras breathed, but refused to show weakness and look away.

"I can get Courfeyrac, or Combeferre. Jehan would probably be pretty good at, uh, making you feel okay, I don't know. If you're sick, Joly should still be in, uh — "

"I'm not sick. And they can't know," Enjolras couldn't help the way his shoulders sagged, an almost distraught expression on his face.

"Right, okay. Okay, uh. There are like, hotlines and prevention lines for like, — "

Abruptly, Enjolras's eyes were fiery and pinpointed on Grantaire. "I'm not suicidal. Or depressed." Why did everyone seem to think that?

The silence after that was long and uncomfortable, Grantaire shifting around and crossing his arms, then uncrossing them again. He wouldn't meet Enjolras' eyes, and Enjolras refused to say anything else. Eventually, Grantaire broke the silence. His voice was almost hopeful, concerned. " ... Can I help?"

"No," Enjolras said flatly, and watched as Grantaire's expression crumpled back into cynicism. Enjolras let out a frustrated puff of air, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't help the — the problem."

"The problem?" Grantaire asked hesitantly.

Without realizing it, Enjolras averted his eyes, staring at the faded brick wall and the coarse pattern it created. He was never a coward, but he would never be able to look someone in the eyes while admitting weakness, especially one like this. "I, ah. I need a favor."

"A favor," Grantaire echoed.

"Yes. A favor, one that only you can do."

"I have got to be dreaming. You want a favor from _me?_ "

Enjolras pursed his lips. "I said you were the only one who could do it, and I meant it. I trust you with this, but if you'd rather stand there and gape helplessly — "

"No, no, I'll. Uh, I'll do it. I'd do anything you asked of me," Grantaire said, wincing at his own words. Enjolras chose to ignore them too, hating how they comforted him nonetheless.

"You can't tell anybody about what I'm going to tell you. Nobody knows, and it's going to stay like that."

"You're telling me something that you haven't even told Combeferre. Okay, all right. Uh, that's. Are you sure?" Grantaire asked, sounding completely at a loss.

The fact that he was asking if Enjolras was sure was both infuriating and touching. Like he always did, Enjolras took the safer route and ignored his feelings. "Of course I am. I wouldn't have dragged you out here just to mention something and then not tell you."

"Right, yeah, of course. You're probably like, incapable of having second thoughts," Grantaire muttered, more to himself. Enjolras couldn't help but marvel at how wrong the dark haired man was. Did he really seem that way?

It seemed like for the past couple of weeks, Enjolras had done nothing but have second thoughts. Of course, he was as determined as a person could get, but when it came to his pyromaniac tenancies, even he wasn't immune to concern and worry.

A fake facade could truly go far.

Grantaire was looking at Enjolras, as if prompting him to explain, to begin, and Enjolras couldn't even find the words. He'd thought about doing this for long weeks, but it had never occurred to him just what he would say to Grantaire in explanation. Considering for a moment, Enjolras took a deep breath and began.

"When I was younger, four or five at most, I nearly burned my house down playing with the gas stove. I was too young to understand the concept of fire, but at that age I only thought it was pretty and didn't understand how dangerous it is to play with," Enjolras began, pausing to gauge Grantaire's reaction.

The man only looked confused, probably to why Enjolras was retelling a story so insignificant, something any child would do. " ... And you burned yourself?"

"No," Enjolras shook his head. "I never wanted to touch it. I don't know why, I just didn't."

Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing, at Grantaire's prompting expression.

"In the end, my nanny caught me just before I was about to set one of my music books on fire. I was scolded, and she told my parents, who grounded me for a week."

Grantaire was giving a small smile, and instead of infuriating Enjolras, it made him feel slightly better. "You had a nanny?"

"Yes, she was an immigrant. It's why I can speak conversational Spanish," Enjolras replied offhandedly. "She was very kind and nice. But."

"But?" Grantaire prompted.

"That wasn't the first time I tried to catch things on fire. I found one of the cleaning ladies lighters, and I set one of my stuffed toys on fire when I was seven. She always came just in time before I could do any actual damage, but soon she began to look at me oddly. I always used to wonder why, because to me, there wasn't anything unusual about what I was doing. When I was thirteen, I stumbled across a term."

"Pyromaniac," Grantaire finished, eyes wide on Enjolras.

Enjolras gave a tight lipped smile. "Yes. Some days, I'd just set a lighter just to stare at the flame. I don't know ... I don't if I actually am. I've never gone to get professional help, I wouldn't even know where to go. But it's never gone away. The obsession."

Grantaire wasn't leaning against the wall anymore, his eyes wide and shocked. It must be very shocking, Enjolras thought, to learn about the perfect man you'd been in love with for two years was so flawed, so dangerous. "And you're worried. You're worried you might do something stupid."

Enjolras felt relieved he didn't have to say it. Grantaire was clever and smart, so quick to catch on. "It's getting worse. It's — It's an urge, an itch that begs to be scratched. It wiggles into my mind, and sometimes it's all I think of. That's why I chose you, Grantaire. You'd understand."

"Holy fuck," Grantaire breathed, shaking his head. "Enjolras, there's a difference between alcoholics and pyromaniacs. The worst things I have to worry about is liver damage at age thirty, and making sure I never get the opportunity to drive a car. But fuck."

It took a moment for Enjolras to steady his breathing, to calm himself down enough to process Grantaire's words. Judgement, confusion, bewilderment. Enjolras was wrong in assuming that Grantaire's blind loyalty to him could be good for something. It could only go so far, it seemed.

The humiliation of it was the worse part, and Enjolras' shoulders began to tense up in shame.

"I know," Enjolras spat, feeling foolish and scared for even thinking to tell Grantaire this. "Don't you think I know that? God, I should have never trusted you."

Grantaire flinched, his expression crumpling. "That's not what I meant, Christ. Look at me," He said, reaching over and grabbing Enjolras' face so their eyes met. Enjolras wasn't even aware he'd looked away, staring at the ground in humiliation. Giving a disdainful look at the hand Grantaire had on him, he chose not to voice any complaints.

"You can forget all of this if you must," Enjolras bit out. "But you still can't tell — "

"I don't want to," Grantaire said, his voice soft and face kind. Sympathy. "It must be horrible, fuck. I can't even imagine it. Most people wouldn't even bother to suppress the obsession, but you would. And, shit, I probably couldn't even do that. But you trusted me with this, and even though I'm probably the least reliable person in the world, uh. I'll still do that favor, I don't care what it is."

Enjolras hadn't realized he wasn't breathing until his lungs ached, and he took in a sudden and abrupt breath that almost startled Grantaire. They were so close, and Grantaire seemed unnaturally warm. "I need you to keep an eye on me."

Grantaire gave a bitter smile. "Already do that, chief."

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Enjolras shook his head instead. "No, not romantically," He said, pretending to not notice the way Grantaire's breath hitched as his feelings were brought to light. "I need you to check in on me, daily if you can. If I act suspiciously, if I miss a meeting or Courfeyrac mentions something out of place," Enjolras' voice dropped, "I need you to find me."

"Enjolras — "

"I can't be sure how long I can keep this up, Grantaire. It gets worse everyday. And ... If it gets to the point where I could endanger someone, I need you to make sure the authorities know. It's ... It's not a matter of making sure I don't. It's a matter of making sure I can be stopped when — when I do."

Enjolras hated the way his voice sounded small, so broken. He was the picture of defeat, his shoulders slumped and brows furrowed in wary exhaustion. Grantaire wasn't saying anything.

"Can you do that for me?"

For a long while, Grantaire stared at him, eyebrows furrowed and face unbearably torn with conflicting emotions. It looked like he wanted to say no, his mouth open but forming no words, but his loyalty to Enjolras wouldn't let him say it. And then a steely reluctance spread across his face.

"Yes," Grantaire breathed eventually, didn't argue or deny and Enjolras was so infinitely grateful. "I promise you. But you have to promise me something."

"It's only fair," Enjolras agreed, still wary.

"Whenever you get ... the itch, text me. You have my number. I'll talk you through it, and if that doesn't work I'll come over and watch you. That's all I need. Just tell me everything. No — no lying," Grantaire said, reasonable.

Enjolras stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. "I promise," He said despite his confusion, and Grantaire looked relieved. "Thank you for doing this. I know you won't fail me."

"Well, that makes one of us," Grantaire muttered bitterly, shaking his head against his cynical thoughts. "No, I won't. I won't fail you."

The air outside was cold, and Enjolras was already shivering slightly from it. It would snow soon, and winter would grasp the city and make everyone miserable and cold. Enjolras nodded back towards the front of the alley, more than ready to dismiss all of this and pretend like everything was normal once more. "Let's go back inside. It's cold. Pretend like this conversation never happened."

Grantaire nodded. He walked next to Enjolras, grinning suddenly, if albeit awkwardly. "So, you never said you could chug beer like that."

"I was kind of determined to get you outside before I lost my nerve," Enjolras sighed, wry. "Who knows how long you would have taken to finish that to avoid confrontation."

"You, losing your nerve? No way," Grantaire laughed, the same raucous laugh as before. It felt good to pretend like they were just friends, and not watching out for Enjolras' pyromaniac behavior.

Enjolras didn't say anything else, but held open the door to the Musain for Grantaire when they finally reached it. It was unnerving to note that everyone's eyes were on them, eagerly watching their return. Even more unnerving were the disappointed faces that greeted them.

They must have been hoping that he and Grantaire were making out. Enjolras sent the ceiling a long suffering look as he sat down next to Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

Courfeyrac was grinning, despite the disappointment. "Lost your nerve?"

A small smile graced Enjolras' lips, as he took a sip of his bottle of water. "I wouldn't say that."

Courfeyrac's eyes were wide and shocked. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? What did you two do out there?" He cried, as his hand, clasped around a beer bottle, smacked the table in protest.

"Courfeyrac isn't wrong, you know. You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, but I'm also curious about what you two would talk about privately," Combeferre spoke up, gaze intent on Enjolras.

Enjolras pretended not to care, dismissing them both. "You'll find out one day," He said lowly, trying not to let the remorse into his tone. They stared at each other for a second in worried confusion, but chose not to say anything else.

It was for the better. They didn't deserve to worry about him like that.

Just let them enjoy his company while they could.

*****

  
Enjolras knew he was dreaming, could almost feel himself fitfully twisting and turning in his bed, soaked in sweat. But the heat of the fire almost singed his skin, bringing a pleasant warmth that almost burned him, consumed him. It seemed to eat away at his worries, and he relaxed into it.

He wasn't in a distinct place, just the fire around him burning gracefully, and the feeling of peace. It felt amazing, a true guilty pleasure.

Grantaire was there, expression twisting as he watched Enjolras, bathed in flames and effervescent.

For the first time, Enjolras shot awake from one of those dreams, his curls plastered to his sweaty forehead and his breathing harsh and fast. The room was dark, save for the fading light outside. It was around six, and he looked around his room, disoriented at first.

He must have fallen asleep, he thought with pursed lips, as he took in the sight of the book next to him sprawled across his bed. Enjolras stripped himself of his clothes, keeping on his shirt and boxers, to try and stave off the unbearable heat he felt.

The feeling of shame that always came with those dreams was all too present.

Like a shrill punishment, his phone was abruptly screeching his ringtone of an incoming call. That must have been what woke him up in the first place, he thought with his expression twisting.

When Enjolras finally fumbled for his phone, his eyebrows furrowed at the number. Why was Grantaire calling him?

And then he remembered.

Fuck.

He slid the answer button, and Grantaire's hurried breathing stopped for a second before his voice was gasping out from the other line. "Fuck, fuck, Enjolras, I'm on my way — "

"What?" Enjolras managed out.

"Your phone," Grantaire panted. "You weren't answering any of my texts, and then I tried to call you and you didn't pick up. Shit, this is probably my fault somehow, I can't believe I already fucked up, please don't tell me you — "

"I was asleep," Enjolras stated, calm and clear. The other line was strangely silent.

"You were asleep," Grantaire breathed, a sound suspiciously like he was slapping himself in the forehead coming from across the line. "Fuck. I freaked out, I thought you were, y'know."

Enjolras wanted to feel angry, he wanted to say Grantaire was worrying uselessly and push his concerns to the side, but he couldn't find it in himself. The other man's worry about him was strangely touching, the fact that he would freak out this much over something like that stirring something inside Enjolras.

"I'm fine," Enjolras murmured, not understanding why he was being soft and gentle. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep. You were right to worry like that, I could have been, well. Thank you, Grantaire. You said you were coming over?"

Grantaire sounded a little strangled for some reason other than sprinting across the city. "Right. Okay, you're welcome? Uh. Yeah, I'm like in front of your building."

"How fast did you run?" Enjolras asked incredulously.

"I thought you were hurting yourself," Grantaire said quietly, like the thought was unbearable. "I had a bunch of these images in my mind. I freaked out, like I said. I'll head home now."

"No, don't do that. Courfeyrac is out, and I can at least offer you coffee or tea for doing that for me," Enjolras replied, perfectly reasonable.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Okay, I'll uh. Buzz me in?"

Enjolras looked down at himself, stripped down to his boxers and a T shirt. It would be cruel to appear in this state of dress, but he'd already made Grantaire sprint halfway across the city, and not letting him in immediately seemed ungrateful.

Enjolras gave a brisk affirmative, getting up and giving Grantaire entry. He walked into the kitchen, not knowing what Grantaire would prefer, but Enjolras felt like making tea, so he set the kettle on. He was just turning the stove on when the knock sounded.

Of course Grantaire would knock, Enjolras thought, rolling his eyes.

He opened the door, pretending to not feel indecent at the way he was dressed. Immediately, Grantaire's eyes were on him, widening as he followed to lines of Enjolras' exposed legs.

Grantaire looked half wild, his dark frizzy curls a mess, dampened slightly with sweat, and his breathing was still a little faster than normal. But Enjolras knew he couldn't look much better, his own sweat cooling on his skin from his dream.

"I would have put on clothes, but I assumed it would be ungrateful to not greet you at least, after worrying that much about me," Enjolras explained, maintaining a perfectly stoic expression even as his heart sped up. Why was that happening?

"No, it's," Grantaire paused, forcefully dragging his eyes up from Enjolras' legs. "It's fine."

His gaze was clouded with lust and arousal, and the knowledge that if he asked to have sex with Grantaire, he could, was strange. Enjolras moved away from the doorway, letting Grantaire inside. "The tea shouldn't be too long, if you'd want any."

Grantaire gave a hysterical laugh. "I think I could go for some tea right now," He said, voice strangled.

Enjolras didn't bother trying to interpret what his problem was, assuming it was his arousal at seeing him in boxers. He led Grantaire to the kitchen, where a small table was set up. Enjolras went to go put on some pants, and maybe a hoodie, especially after the way Grantaire's eyes had lingered on his forearms.

Grantaire was in the kitchen still, sitting at the table and idly twiddling his thumbs. He almost startled when Enjolras entered again, looking so relieved to see him dressed appropriately.

"You, uh. You look kind of sick," Grantaire said, wincing at his own wording.

Enjolras remembered his own appearance, probably not much better than Grantaire's at the moment. He always woke up overheated and burning from those dreams, and he'd hate it if he didn't love it so much.

"I dream about it, sometimes. The fire," Enjolras clarified, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

Looking tentative, Grantaire met his eyes from his spot at the table. "Are they bad dreams?"

Enjolras wanted to say yes. He wanted to lie and say that they were sick dreams, where forests and buildings and on some more disgusting occasions, cities were burning with them. By all means, they should be bad dreams, should be horrible dreams. But that side of Enjolras reveled in them, looked forwards to the nights where they would consume him.

But he promised Grantaire he wouldn't lie to him about anything. Enjolras reluctantly tore his gaze away. "No."

"Oh," Grantaire said, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at his hands. "They don't bother you that much, then?"

He wished Grantaire would stop asking, but it was important that he know. "They do. I hate them, I hate the way I sometimes look forwards to them. I don't want to like them. I used to try and not sleep at all," Enjolras paused, as Grantaire's head shot up in alarm. "But Courfeyrac said he'd force me to a doctor if I didn't sleep."

Grantaire swallowed a breath of air, face wrinkling. "I thought you said nobody knew."

"They don't," Enjolras assured him. "They think I'm depressed. Jehan, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac."

"Are they ... right?"

"No," Enjolras said, shaking his head. It wasn't denial, just a fact. "The only reason I don't get out of bed some days is so that I don't do anything stupid."

"That sounds terrible."

"It's like being trapped without the cage. I've told Courfeyrac to call you on those days."

"Did he ask why?"

"I told him you make me feel better," Enjolras murmured, the truth of it almost too much to bear.

"That's, uh. Good thinking," Grantaire managed out at last.

The kettle startled Grantaire, but not Enjolras. He poured them both a cup and then he leaned back against the counter, uncertainly sloshing it in his cup. Grantaire seemed to be relishing in tea made from Enjolras for who knew why, drinking it reverently.

Or maybe he was just that much of a tea enthusiast. Who knew.

"Thank you again for doing that, Grantaire. I knew I was right with trusting you," Enjolras settled on finally, after some consideration on breaking the silence.

Grantaire flushed and tried to hide it behind taking a sip of his tea. "I made a promise."

"This is different," Enjolras said, shaking his head.

When there was no response, Enjolras looked up and saw that Grantaire was looking at something with a peculiar stare. Following his gaze, Enjolras felt his lips quirk when he came to the stove.

"Is that — "

"Electric," Enjolras cut in, feeling vaguely amused.

"Oh," Grantaire said, sounding relieved.

"One of the only things I asked for when Courfeyrac said we were going to be roommates. I said it was because the gas in gas stoves are dangerous for ... for something, I can't quite remember what I'd said."

Grantaire was smiling, hesitantly but genuine. "I didn't know you could lie."

"I try not to," Enjolras shrugged, setting his cup of tea down. "It seemed like a harmless enough lie."

"For a good cause, too," Grantaire chimed in.

"I'd say," Enjolras said, wry.

Grantaire was staring at the cup in his hands, eyebrows furrowed. "Do you ever ... think about burning in it? The fire, I mean. Hurting yourself?"

Enjolras thought about it. Despite all of the times he'd set things on fire, played with lighters and stared at flames, he'd never burned himself anymore than what was just an accident. He waited until Grantaire's eyes met his before answering, trying to put some of his worries to rest. "Never. I've never wanted to touch it. It seems like I'd taint it, somehow."

"So you wouldn't hurt or burn yourself?" Grantaire stared at him, as if he were holding his breath.

"No. That's not something you'll need to concern yourself about. That I can assure you, at least," Enjolras murmured. 

They settled into a silence, neither uncomfortable but not exactly comfortable either. Courfeyrac would be home soon, but Enjolras didn't know how to tell Grantaire he should probably leave when the man was still looking at Enjolras with that wild, concerned look, like he was going to catch on fire any second.

Just as Enjolras was taking a sip of tea, Courfeyrac burst through the door and started in on one of his ridiculous stories, not noticing Grantaire.

"Enj, you will not _BELIEVE_ what happened at Combeferre's place, his neighbor was — "

Courfeyrac cut himself off, eyes widening as he took in the sight of Grantaire, face still flushed from exertion and still slightly sweaty from running here. He then turned to Enjolras, gasping in a breath when he saw Enjolras was similarly affected.

"I knew it!" He all but shouted.

Enjolras squared off his expression and stared at him flatly. "You're going to get us another complaint."

"When did this secret relationship start? How could I have been this blind? I've seen you look at him, Enj, don't think I haven't," Courfeyrac said, accusing.

"We're not dating," Grantaire cut in, perhaps a bit too bitterly.

Courfeyrac stared at him for a second, his eyes closing at some realization. "So it's ... that kind of thing?"

"Grantaire, I think you should leave. I'll handle this," Enjolras said, turning to Courfeyrac. Looking a little wounded, Grantaire gathered himself up and went for the door, and Enjolras watched him go with a strange look. Courferyac had his eyes narrowed on Enjolras.

"That's a crappy thing to do to someone," Courfeyrac said eventually.

Enjolras was physically taken aback, staring at Courfeyrac in confusion. He'd never heard Courfeyrac talk like that before. "What is?"

"You know he has feelings for you. And you're just going to use him like that?"

Enjolras, quite literally, sputtered. "What?!"

Courfeyrac finally looked a little less vehement, and more confused. "It's not like that?"

"No!" Enjolras exclaimed, taking a deep breath and lowering his voice when he remembered the threat of their neighbors complaining. "I wouldn't do that to him. I've never had sex with him, nor do I ever plan on it."

"Oh," Courfeyrac said, beginning to grin sheepishly. "I might have taken things wrong."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Yes. He's doing me a favor."

"A favor?"

"I can't say what it is, but it's not sexual, for God's sake."

Courfeyrac frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "If you don't want to say, you don't have to."

"Thank you," Enjolras said, relieved, but feeling guilty.

"Is that tea?" Courfeyrac asked, smiling happily and obliviously like he hadn't been frowning a moment before.

Enjolras sighed, smiling slightly as he poured him a cup.

*****

  
It was about a week after that when Enjolras felt the urge, worse than ever.

Grantaire texted him everyday, like the loyal dog Enjolras had thought he would be. It sounded offensive, but to Enjolras it was a compliment. Grantaire was far more trustworthy than he would have originally thought, attentive and responsible. He held his end of the promise so well that Enjolras felt guilty for having nothing to give back.

Combeferre was over one day, commenting on how Enjolras was less tense than he usually was. Perhaps it was because of how much it eased him, knowing Grantaire would stop him before he did anything brash. It was more comforting than Enjolras would have liked to admit.

He still felt the urge, but like before, it was more of a distant hum in the back of his mind. And when he saw a wildfire coverage story on the TV, he called Grantaire and the dark haired man talked him through it like he'd said, telling Enjolras to turn off the TV and sit down. Grantaire had volunteered to come over immediately, but Enjolras refused, not wanting to be more of a burden than he already was. 

It was strange, but it was  _helping_.

But on the first bad day since he'd asked Grantaire of the favor, he wanted to stay in bed, hide under the duvet and pretend like he wasn't an absolutely deplorable person who got sick pleasure out of destruction and ash. He knew he should text Grantaire.

He didn't. 

Instead, he reluctantly got out of bed.

Sometimes he made bad decisions.

He didn't remember much from what he did, he could only remember the burning of the flames as they grew more and more out of control, the way everything smelled of fire and ash. His lungs hurt so painfully, and yet he heaved in every breath like it was a rare delicacy.

The adrenaline flowing through his veins made him feel more alive than he ever had, something like fear and pleasure mixing together. The old human instinct to draw back at fire, and Enjolras's own fucked up obsession with drawing _closer_  battling together as if they were enemies.

Enjolras remembered falling to his knees as the flames spread around him, the building murky with smoke and heat. His eyes were watering viciously as he coughed and hacked, and it was so wrong. He didn't remember pulling out his phone, texting Grantaire to meet him in the alley by the Musain. He told him to light a fire, and to not ask questions.

The flames were getting out of control.

*****

  
Grantaire was leaning against the brick wall, the trashcan next to him burning with fire. His lip was split and bleeding for whatever reason, and Enjolras didn't know if he wanted to rip it open further or kiss the blood away. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Enjolras was moving forwards and grabbing Grantaire's face in his hands.

Grantaire's eyes were wide on him, an impossible shade of hazel that reflected green in the light of the fire. The orange glow cast shapes onto his face, illuminating his expression into something so much _more_.

Enjolras was trying to speak, his mouth working but forming no words. Everything about that moment was incoherent, unintelligible, but Grantaire wasn't. A hand reached up, the cracked nail polish on his fingers reflected in the firelight, and it tangled in Enjolras' curls.

The fingers clutched hard, pulling Enjolras into reality, away from the heat of the fire. His mind was _burning_. "Enjolras," Grantaire breathed, the stubble on his face prickling Enjolras's fingers. " _What did you do?_ "

And like that, Enjolras remembered the smudges of ash on his face, the smell of smoke and fire clinging to his body, the way the ends of his hair were singed slightly.

Enjolras remembered.

The fire was everywhere and spreading fast, so fast, and great plumes of smoke cascaded around him. There were sirens ringing in the distance, and his lungs heaved with breath. He needed to run — he needed to move, and yet he wanted to stay in the flames forever and never face reality again. They were so beautiful, rising up with flawless danger, so bright that his eyes watered and his head began to pound with the over-stimulation of it all.

Enjolras had never seen anything so amazing. So single-handedly fantastic.

Grantaire was staring at him imploringly, everything about him distraught.

"Hold me," Enjolras said, almost a whine.

Without a word, Grantaire obeyed silently and held him close. Grantaire's arm circled around him, the hand gripping Enjolras' hair pressing his face against his neck. Enjolras breathed Grantaire in, a shuddering breath coming out as he buried his face against fabric.

He smelled clean, like cheap soap and laundry detergent and the smell of winter air, as if he'd been wandering the streets aimlessly all night.

With a sickening realization, Enjolras knew it was probably true. He hadn't answered any of Grantaire's calls or texts, and the dark haired man must have been worried sick and looking for him for quite some time.

The guilt of what he'd done was unbearable, but coupled with making Grantaire go through this with him was even worse.

Enjolras turned his face to the side, and watched with the fire in the trashcan, controlled, and hardly dangerous. Grantaire had yet to let him go, and Enjolras soaked in his heat and watched the fire as it began to burn out.

It wouldn't be long, he realized, before he burned out too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First multi-chapter fic in awhile, but I regret nothing. Updates will probably be every other week or so, depending on comments and feedback, so it's greatly appreciated! It's going to be a long ride, guys, and while I can't promise a quick fix-it solution, I can promise a happy ending. Tags to be added


	2. Chapter 2

It really shouldn't have been a surprise that Grantaire took care of him like he did after that. Despite his long-term devotion to Enjolras, Grantaire still would have showed the same amount of caring and selflessness to any of his friends. The dark haired man claimed to be the most selfish person of their friend group, but Enjolras thought he couldn't be more wrong.

Grantaire was the type of person to give you the shirt off of his back if you asked.

It was admirable, certainly, and caused no small amount of wonder in Enjolras. Enjolras was undoubtedly loyal to his friends, but he was still selfish in his own regard, like the emotions and the secrets he kept from them, but even he felt guilty about that. It wasn't like he could help it.

Enjolras didn't remember how they ended up in Grantaire's messy and small apartment, but he came from his reverie when he was quickly ushered inside. Enjolras was shivering slightly, from either over-stimulation or the cold, and Grantaire was quick to pick up on it.

"Come on, Enj, it's all right, the bathrooms right there. Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" Grantaire said softly, tugging Enjolras along with a gentle hand now that they were safe inside, and there was no rush to avoid prying eyes.

Enjolras was unnaturally subdued, his head bent down slightly and eyes cast on the floor. "Right."

Grantaire's hopeful eyes were on Enjolras, tracking his movements for anger or indignation, for anything at all, but whatever he saw there instead was enough to make the hope crumple. It wasn't normal for Enjolras to act so doggedly. "Don't look like that. You're scaring me."

It would be scary, Enjolras imagined, to watch someone so full of fire and life suddenly so dull, like the dimming of a flame. Not for the first time, Enjolras wondered about just how far Grantaire was willing to go for him.

Enjolras looked up at that, his voice hollow. "I could have killed someone."

"Are you kidding? I know you wouldn't," Grantaire shook his head furiously, like he was denying the very thought. Strange for him.

Enjolras ripped his arm away from Grantaire, staring at the dark haired man with an indecipherable look of hurt in his eyes. His voice was thick with betrayal. "You promised."

"I promised I'd watch over you, and — "

"Alert the authorities when I did something like this."

"You didn't hurt anyone. It was an abandoned warehouse," Grantaire said faintly.

"I lost time. I could have hurt people. You need to — "

"Oh, fuck you. Fuck you for even thinking that I'd be able to that," Grantaire snarled. He looked so wild and insecure, crossing his arms and hugging them close to his body. But there was a lingering amount of fear in his eyes, and perhaps Grantaire wasn't the best choice for this.

He wasn't scared of Enjolras. He was scared _for_ him.

It should have been obvious in the beginning, that Grantaire wouldn't be able to keep all ends of his promise. But to refuse that part of it should have been expected, and a singular part of Enjolras found it endearing, relieving. Maybe it was a natural response to such blind loyalty, but to a man like Enjolras, he knew nothing could be so devastating.

But Enjolras couldn't take that, not anytime before and certainly not now. "You agreed. You knew what you were getting into!" He spat, running a hand through his tangled and frazzled blond curls. The ends would need to be trimmed. "And because of your ridiculous emotional attachment to me, you ended up failing me on a whole other level."

The words were cruel, even to Enjolras' standards. Grantaire had done nothing but care for him and offer his unwavering loyalty. But Enjolras was hurt and lashing out, his heart beating so fiercely in his chest that he thought it would burst through at any moment.

Immediately, Enjolras wanted to apologize, explain himself. However, Grantaire's expression turned from shocked to ineffably sad, and then eventually squared off into an emotionless mask, and the words died on Enjolras' tongue. Grantaire lowered his gaze, his voice soft and resolved. "You need a shower. You reek of smoke."

Grantaire hadn't seemed to mind the smell that much earlier, when Enjolras was all but clinging to him. The antagonistic part of Enjolras immediately wanted to argue more, but he fought the urge. He'd already caused enough harm for the night.

There was still a lingering amount of adrenaline in his veins that was begging to be used and wasted, but Enjolras took a deep calming breath. "Fine."

Looking at least momentarily relived, Grantaire led him to a small bathroom. The shower was almost ridiculously small, but Enjolras didn't mind that so much as the poorly placed window next to it, and yet Grantaire's face soured. "Look, just because you can afford better doesn't mean that you can go around acting like anything less — "

Enjolras rolled his eyes, divesting himself of his hoodie in one swift movement. "That's not what I was glaring at."

Grantaire's eyes widened as Enjolras began to remove his shirt as well, unable to find the strength to care about decency right now. A part of him relished in smelling of smoke, bringing him back to the big and uncontrollable flames. Which made it all the more necessary that he strip out of his clothes as soon as possible.

"Uh, I'll be outside the door. Shout if you need me. Like, uh," Grantaire's gaze momentarily tracked down to Enjolras' bare chest, then sharply cut away. "Right out the door."

Enjolras pursed his lips, feeling that fond feeling despite everything at Grantaire's worry for him. It was endearing, he told himself, a redeemable quality that Enjolras couldn't help but like. He closed his eyes, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing.

Grantaire's shower wasn't overly complicated to turn on, but Enjolras gasped when he set the water on hot and all that came out was cold. It took a minute or so before it warmed up, nearly scalding him to death, and Enjolras was both shivering and sweating in seconds.

He managed to find a comfortable in between, putting his head under the spray and relishing in the way it seemed to clear his mind instantly. The water provided a momentary reprieve from his mind, and it felt nothing short of amazing to have his racing thoughts put to rest, if only for a second.

But suddenly, images of fire and the smell of something burning clouded his mind, flames laving around his skin and singing his hair and swallowing him whole — Enjolras gasped. His eyes shot open in a fraction of a second, taking in shuddering breaths as he tried to calm down his racing heart.

He was back in the relative safety of Grantaire's shower.

That had never happened before, the fire consuming his entire mind against his will. It was terrifying, and showed just how much worse Enjolras was getting. He knew it wouldn't be long, but now it almost seemed like a death sentence. Like some sort of disease that would eventually claim his life, despite all efforts.

It was long moments before Enjolras finally reached for a nearly empty bottle of shampoo, still gasping in adrenaline and fear, lathering his hair up into a soapy mess and rinsing it under the cleansing spray.

Frowning when he saw no conditioner, he reached for a bar of soap and tried not to think about it running along Grantaire's body as well, where it probably once created soapy bubbles along his skin. Enjolras tried not to think about the images of fire that had paralyzed him momentarily, swallowing when he realized he'd have to tell Grantaire.

At least one of them had to live up to their promise.

Enjolras got out of the shower eventually, snagging a towel from under the cabinet and drying out his hair. In the slightly fogged mirror, he could see the singed ends. They didn't go up too far, but would need to be cut off nonetheless. He wondered where he could go where nobody would piece this together.

The clothes Enjolras had originally worn were gone, replaced with a ragged pair of joggers and a T shirt he'd seen Grantaire wear on occasion. Enjolras put on his boxers, which were thankfully still there, and then the clothes, if a bit reluctantly.

He didn't know whether he wanted to be upset or fond that Grantaire had sneaked in with clothes. As an executive decision, Enjolras decided to be both. He swung open the door, steam cascading behind him and into the fresh air of the apartment.

Enjolras blinked, staring at Grantaire, who was a mere two feet away from him and seemed to have been leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway.

Grantaire looked sheepish, and a little wary. More fascinating than that was the _blush_ that covered his face, disappearing into where his hoodie hid his skin. Enjolras' brow wrinkled as Grantaire talked. "Sorry for the, uh, creepy sneaking around. I didn't want to like, disturb you if you were, uh. Taking a moment for yourself."

Enjolras gave him a strange look, unable to process what that meant before his eyes widened and his face turned into offended incredulity. 

Did Grantaire think —

“I wasn't masturbating," He managed out, the disgust in his voice almost comical.

At the blunt phrasing, Grantaire actually whimpered and closed his eyes. "Y-You know, it's totally cool if you were, it's been kind of — of a rough day."

"Why would I even -- "

"Dude, I like, heard you making those noises in there -- "

"In your shower — "

Enjolras cut himself off, blinking for a couple of seconds before he remembered. His gaze briefly tracked down to the tent in Grantaire's jeans, barely there but noticeable enough if you were looking. Grantaire swallowed and looked so ashamed and sick that Enjolras wanted to assure him he couldn't care less, but he didn't know if that would be a comfort or an insult.

"That's not what you were hearing," Enjolras said finally.

Grantaire stopped looking so awkward, eyes staring at Enjolras in confusion. His pupils were dilated, but it seemed like he was used to being in this state around Enjolras, because he didn't even acknowledge it in the slightest. "Wait, what?"

"I was ... I had a flashback of the fire," Enjolras admitted, looking away and wrinkling his nose in self-disgust. “The noises were, well, I'm sure you can piece that together.”

"Oh. Oh, fuck, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, like," Grantaire stuttered out, looking completely stricken.

Enjolras shook his head, unable to find it in himself to truly care. "It's fine. I'd rather just forget about it," He said, willing Grantaire to drop the subject now that he fulfilled part of his promise.

Grantaire stared at him for a moment, torn, but eventually nodded his head. His eyes caught one of Enjolras' stray curls, still wet from his shower, and he hesitantly reached out to feel along the bottom of it's length. "You'll need to cut your hair," He said softly.

Nodding, Enjolras stared at the finger Grantaire was using to twirl the curl. "Yes. I was going to do it myself."

The hand stopped abruptly, and Grantaire stared at Enjolras in shock. "You can't do that. No, let me."

"You'd do that for me?" Enjolras couldn't keep the bewilderment out of his voice.

"What? Of course I'd do that for you," Grantaire said.

Soon, they both sat on the bathroom floor, Grantaire pulling out a pair of surprisingly adept scissors, and so began the task of Grantaire trimming off the burned ends of his hair.

It was oddly intimate, the feeling of Grantaire's fingers brushing along the back of his neck, sifting for the worst of his singed hair. Every now and again, Grantaire would pull on one of his curls, and the sound of scissors snipping away at the deadened ends was almost comforting.

Grantaire was surprisingly good at this, his fingers almost expertly cutting along the edges. Not that Enjolras particularly cared how his hair ended up, just as so long as there wouldn't be any evidence of him and fire.

Enjolras shifted, and Grantaire ran another cursory hand through his hair.

"Well, that's the worst of it," Grantaire said at last, the oddly pleasant feeling of his hand in Enjolras' hair falling away.

"Thank you," Enjolras murmured, staring at the bathroom floor blankly. As if sensing his change in mood, Grantaire was pulling him up and giving a strained smile.

"Why don't you take a look?" Grantaire asked, his voice falsely bright.

Enjolras angled himself towards the mirror, assessing the shortness of his curls. They now only just reached the bottom of his ears, but still had the curly and voluminous quality his hair always had. It looked good, and Enjolras felt the ends with a curious expression.

With a little conditioner, it would probably look like it usually did, if a bit shorter.

" ... Do you like it?" Grantaire asked, snapping Enjolras back to reality. Grantaire looked oddly self-conscious, not quite meeting Enjolras' eyes.

"Yes," Enjolras said truthfully. "It's better than I expected. Thank you again, Grantaire. Not just for this. For everything." The blunt honesty of it startled Enjolras, but he didn't revoke his words.

Grantaire's voice held surprise and relief. "I made you a promise, and I'm going to keep it. Do you need to stay the night? I put your clothes in the washing machine, but they might not be done for awhile."

Enjolras contemplated his options for moment, eventually shaking his head and pursing his lips. He couldn't possibly bring himself to bother Grantaire more than he already had. And Enjolras still needed to have the mental breakdown he'd been carefully avoiding in Grantaire's presence thus far.

"No, I couldn't. When my clothes are clean, I'll leave," Enjolras said reasonably, but why did Grantaire's face fall at that? Did he want Enjolras to spend the night? That was absurd.

"They should be done soon, and then I'll throw them in the drier," Grantaire responded back, almost woodenly. Enjolras considered him for a moment, before shaking his head and sighing when he received a text message from Courfeyrac asking where he was.

He responded back with the truth, that he was at Grantaire's, and Courfeyrac only responded with "O:", so Enjolras didn't care much to reply back.

When Enjolras' clothes were done drying, he hurriedly changed into them. He chose not to ask about the split lip Grantaire had, though the dark haired man winced every now and then when he thoughtlessly ran his tongue along it.

Grantaire was on the couch when Enjolras emerged from his bathroom, in his own clothes that smelled like Grantaire's laundry detergent, a strangely comforting smell.

"Are you leaving now?" Grantaire asked, sounding put off.

"Yes," Enjolras replied, trying not to let his gratitude betray his collected expression. Grantaire stood up from the couch, following Enjolras towards the door.

"Text me when you get back," Grantaire said, soft. It was almost a whisper, and Enjolras fought against his conflicting emotions.

"I will. Thank you, Grantaire," Enjolras breathed, and before he could do something foolishly sentimental like cling to Grantaire again and beg the man to let him stay, Enjolras was out of the door and closing it before either of them got a change to say goodbye.

The walk home was hard, because while Enjolras had been keeping a clear hold on his emotions while being watched by Grantaire, what he let show couldn't be further from the truth. He was warring himself on the inside, eating himself up. The guilt was overwhelming, and Enjolras had to bite back bile on more than one occasion on his way home.

It was only 10 PM, but Enjolras was still weary about walking through the streets at such a time. However, he got to his apartment with no real hardship and no urges to set things aflame, and he felt better for it. He barely remembered to send Grantaire a text.

Courfeyrac wasn't in when Enjolras came into their shared apartment, but that was a relief more than anything. He must have come home briefly before going off somewhere.

No, he must have stopped home to check on Enjolras.

It was strange how oddly sentimental Enjolras felt right then. It wasn't so much as weakness, but the fire had left Enjolras with these raw feelings he usually didn't let himself feel, and he was helpless to stop it. That part of him didn't _want_ to stop it.

Enjolras hoped he'd be emotionally and physically exhausted enough to pass out as soon as he came into his room, but sleep didn't come. He stared up at his ceiling, eyes glazed over as he recalled every last detail of what he'd done. The flames, the fire, the smell of smoke and burning.

It was all around him, so wretchedly beautiful that Enjolras almost wanted to cry. It was like listening to music, or looking at a painting. It was like _art_ , inspiring the deepest emotions inside of him and leaving him shaking.

He knew he should call Grantaire, but he didn't bother reaching for his phone. Instead, Enjolras curled in on himself and hid his face in his arms, so ashamed with himself he didn't know what to do. He was out of control, and Grantaire wasn't willing to do anything about it.

No, that wasn't true.

Grantaire wanted to at least take care of Enjolras, and even if Enjolras was a risk to himself and everyone around him, Grantaire believed so firmly that he wouldn't cause harm to anyone.

His hoodie still smelled faintly of smoke, and like Grantaire's detergent, a combination so comforting it was almost infuriating.

Grantaire took careful measures not to believe in anything. He always expected the worse, and faced the truths that most people fought to ignore. He didn't recoil at the thoughts that were too painful to think, a true cynic. He didn't trust anything, and only trusted the people he considered friends.

Grantaire didn't believe in anything or anyone, but he believed in Enjolras.

He believed Enjolras wouldn't hurt anybody like it was an irrefutable fact.

Never in the time that Enjolras had known the skeptic had he seen him believe in something so much as that. The conviction he'd shown Enjolras thus far betrayed just how much Enjolras thought he really knew about him. Perhaps he was wrong. Originally, he'd thought Grantaire bordered on nihilism, grounded in his believe that everything was meaningless.

Enjolras dreaded the day he would extinguish the only hope Grantaire had managed to have in a person.

*****

It was on the local news.

Enjolras sat watching the television screen with a carefully blank expression the next day, his eyes following the reporter as she stood in front of the scene. An abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where a once large building was collapsed and charred. On the bottom of the screen, in white obnoxious font, were the words 'mystery fire in abandoned property'.

The local fire chief had brief screen time, looking grim and caught out after a long night of battling flames. "We're not at the point where we know if it was caught intentionally, but the evidence of the scene clearly indicates the prospect of arson."

Enjolras reached for his phone, his hands shaking only minimally as he called Grantaire. After only a couple of rings, the line was filled and Grantaire was speaking, his voice a comfort Enjolras didn't understand.

"Hello — "

"Did you see it?" Enjolras asked, his voice a conspiratory whisper.

Grantaire was quiet for a moment, and Enjolras could hear him swallow distantly. "Yeah. I did, on the news this morning."

"They think someone set it on fire," Enjolras breathed, taking in a shuddering breath. He tried to calm down, be his usual collected self, but his heart was betraying that and racing in his chest, and sweat was forming on his brow. "What if — "

"They have no idea," Grantaire cut him off, and Enjolras was vaguely frustrated with the soothing tone he used. "It's all right. They have no idea who did it. No one's been hurt."

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Enjolras ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a second, knowing Grantaire wouldn't hang up on him even if he didn't say anything for an hour. Eventually, Enjolras spoke, much calmer this time. "You're right. I shouldn't have called you."

"Are you actually kidding? I told you, you can call me anytime."

"You shouldn't have to be my babysitter, entertaining the fears I'm too cowardly to face myself," Enjolras said, his voice tight and his lips pursed. "I know you're at work right now. I shouldn't have bothered you."

Enjolras had enough money on his own from his parents that he didn't need to worry about working through college, but not everyone was as lucky and privileged as him. He could hear the bustling of people and metal on the other side of the line, and knew Grantaire was in the kitchen of the restaurant he was a waiter at.

"Uh, I'm actually on break."

It annoyed Enjolras how Grantaire was so willing to lie to him for his sake. "I know you're not," He said testily. "You would have used your break to smoke already. You shouldn't have answered, Grantaire, you could be fired."

"We're not that busy right now, and seriously, I've only got two tables right now. Nobody cares," Grantaire muttered, sounding suspiciously like they were very busy right then and everyone was caring, particularly his boss. "It doesn't matter anyways. Are you sure you're cool?"

There was a desperate edge to his voice, like he sincerely wanted to get back to work, but also like he was entirely unwilling to ignore Enjolras for a second. "Yes, I'm fine."

" ... If you say so. Seriously, call me anytime," Grantaire said, still disbelieving. "I should, uh. Probably go now."

The corner of Enjolras' mouth quirked up. "Yes. Bye then," Enjolras said, hanging up so that Grantaire wouldn't have to.

It was strange how Grantaire could quell his fears in a matter of seconds, but Enjolras decided not to question it. He didn't really want to go through everything that was wrong with that, so he sat watching the news report with a carefully blank expression until Combeferre and Courfeyrac arrived.

When they did come in, it was with a flurry of movement and excitement (mostly Courfeyrac). Courfeyrac went into the kitchen to grab them all a beer, while Combeferre took a seat next to Enjolras. 

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "Are you watching the News?"

"Unfortunately," Enjolras sighed, forcing himself to remain calm. Although he didn't lie often, he was usually adept at it. But Combeferre was the exception  —  he could tell when anyone was lying. "I just wanted to check the weather."

The lie he chose was horrible, and it showed on Combeferre's face immediately. If Enjolras wanted to check the weather, he would have used his phone or laptop, not the TV. But Combeferre was merciful, pretending like he didn't perceive the lie. "Rain all week, I'm afraid. Snow on Sunday," Combeferre replied easily.

"Ah," Enjolras said, because he sincerely could not care less about the weather, especially right then. "Thank you."

Courfeyrac saved them from the awkward silence that would have followed. Combeferre was one of the smartest people  Enjolras knew , and he was no doubt busy analyzing just why Enjolras had chosen to lie right then. Why Enjolras would lie to a  _friend_. 

When the cold glass of one of Courfeyrac's cheap beers was pressed in his hand, Enjolras pursed his lips and took a sip. It was bitter and awful, and too cold for his liking. Courfeyrac laughed at his expression. "You know, most people grow to like it."

"An acquired taste," Combeferre smiled, declining a beer when Courfeyrac offered one. "I'm driving, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"It's bitter and unhealthy for you," Enjolras grimaced, setting his down on the coffee table to never be touched again. "Why drink it?"

"Because Ferre's my designated driver and I can't go another car ride listening to Tchaikovsky without a little help," Courfeyrac said brightly.

Combeferre heaved a long suffering sigh. "It wasn't Tchaikovsky -- "

They settled into an easy conversation about that, something about Combeferre and his obsession with classical music, and Courfeyrac's fond annoyance over it. Until Courfeyrac brought up the matter of Cosette and Marius, which Enjolras didn't even know was a thing until then.

“Did you know Marius and Cosette got together?” Courfeyrac asked Enjolras, and Enjolras gave him a baffled look.

“Why would I know that? I thought they didn't talk.”

“You cannot be that oblivious,” Courfeyrac managed out, staring at Enjolras in shock. Enjolras pursed his lips, not liking the fact that he'd missed something. 

“They have been really obvious,” Combeferre said.

“Everyone's getting together,” Courfeyrac said happily, like the thought was just the most amazing thing in the world. To Courfeyrac, it probably was. “Speaking of getting together, I couldn't help but notice you and Grantaire — “

“Oh God, not this again,” Enjolras interrupted, but it was too late. Combeferre was already giving Enjolras a curious look.

“Are you and Grantaie dating?” Combeferre asked, looking incredulous.

“ _No_ ,” Enjolras said.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac cut in, a gleeful expression on his face. “They're hiding something, you know. I told them I wouldn't pry, and I won't, but they're being very suspicious as of late. Ever since Enjolras dragged Grantaire outside after our last meeting.”

“I didn't drag him outside,” Enjolras protested.

“He was mouthing 'help me' to anyone watching,” Combeferre said, amused.

Enjolras frowned in frustration. “You know how he is with confrontation.”

“Is that what was happening out there?” Courfeyrac smirked, honest to God smirked, and it was infuriating and laughable all at once. “And what was with that thing you told us after you talked with him? You said we'd know soon enough.”

“It doesn't matter,” Enjolras said, trying to ignore the way his heart was speeding up. Enjolras needed to change the subject, and quickly. "Are you two going out later?" Enjolras asked, his voice just a little too sharp. 

"Well, yeah," Courfeyrac smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Is that cool?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Enjolras  forced himself to say , shaking his head. "I don't mind."

"We don't have you to feel excluded because we're together now," Combeferre replied easily, ever the voice of reason.

Truthfully, Enjolras was feeling a bit excluded from their friendship as of late. It seemed like he was  unintentionally prying into their lives every time he tried to do something with them, like the ultimate third wheel. But Enjolras refused to be selfish and sabotage their happiness because of  those worthless feelings, so he kept those thoughts to himself.

"No, I don't mind."

Besides, it wouldn't hurt for everyone to become less attached to him. Enjolras wasn't fond of denying the truths, and he knew the eventual parting blow between them would be easier if Combeferre and Courfeyrac had each other, and weren't that close with Enjolras anymore. 

Later, when they had left, Enjolras sat on the couch and stared at the unfinished bottle of beer Courfeyrac had given him. His eyes traced the drops of condensation, the glass slippery and wet with it. 

That wasn't a bad idea. 

If his friends didn't like him anymore, it would hardly bother them when they found out Enjolras' proclivity with fire and the destruction he'd bring. 

They'd shrug, and move on with their lives as they should. Enjolras was willing to make the sacrifice of friendship for their sake, and take the price of lonliness if it meant lessening their burden. 

If they thought Enjolras didn't like them, the sooner they would end their friendship. And Enjolras had already begun his downward spiral. He knew now more than ever that it wouldn't be long until he felt the urge again, probably much more pressing than before. 

The fire in the warehouse had temporarily scratched the itch, but it couldn't permanently sate the urge. There would come a time when it would be truly unstoppable, no matter what Grantaire said or believed, and Enjolras didn't want to hurt them if he could help it.

It would take a lot of careful construction, but he could manage it.

He just had to tell Grantaire.

*****

Grantaire texted him shortly after his shift ended at the restaurant, and Enjolras was quick to call him when he received it. Immediately, Grantaire picked up, his voice slightly high pitched in worry. 

"Is something wrong? Shit, I shouldn't have left you like that — "

"I'm fine, nothing's wrong. I have something to tell you, do you think you could come over?" Enjolras asked, trying to ignore that vague feeling that came up again at the thought of Grantaire worrying about him. He now decided it was oddly warm, and pleasant  at that . 

"Well, uh. I spilled something on me towards the end of my shift, I pretty much smell like garlic and pasta," Grantaire managed out, sounding embarrassed.

"I don't care about that. You can stop by your apartment and change if you want," Enjolras replied, getting up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Right, yeah. Uh, good idea," Grantaire said, and the other line was silent for the length of a moment before the dark haired man spoke again. "So, Courfeyrac texted me."

Enjolras' eyebrows furrowed. "What did he say?"

"That you got a haircut, which I knew. And that you haven't moved from the couch all day," Grantaire said. "Are you  — Is it  — one of those ... ?"

Oh. Grantaire thought he was having another bad day, so soon after his last. Enjolras closed his eyes, taking a sip of his water before screwing the cap back on. "No, it isn't. Not so soon after ... the incident. It isn't usually unmanagable for a long time. Some weeks it's more present, but it's not often that it's truly debiliating."

"Oh. That's good," Grantaire sounded much more at ease, knowing that Enjolras wasn't suffering again. "Uh, have you eaten yet?"

Enjolras frowned. "I had a bagel for breakfast."

"That's it? Fuck, you need to eat more," Grantaire said, and Enjolras' eyebrow twitched in indignation despite knowing it was true. "I'm going to stop and get some takeout."

"You don't have to," Enjolras said in his confusion, though his stomach rumbled unpleasantly at the thought of denying food. 

"I'm going to get myself something anyways, so why not?" Grantaire said, and Enjolras could almost picture him shrugging right then. "Also, I've got something to show you."

Enjolras wanted to protest more on the matter of food, but when Grantaire mentioned showing him something, his attention immediately diverted. "What is it?"

"Uh, I'd rather be there when I show you."

"Fine," Enjolras snapped, never one to like being kept in the dark. "I  still have something to tell you, anyways ."

"Is it ... bad?" Grantaire asked, almost hesitantly.

"Depending on how you look at it," Enjolras replied, but didn't say anything else. That conversation wasn't one he was willing to have on the phone, especially because he knew that Grantaire would react poorly. "Text Courfeyrac you're coming over. He's on a date with Combeferre, and I don't want to ruin it with them worrying over me."

"Right," Grantaire said, disgruntled. 

"What?" Enjolras asked.

"Nothing. I'll see you in a bit."

*****

Enjolras was reading when Grantaire texted him asking to be buzzed in, which Enjolras did while settling back into the couch. A hesitant knock sounded on the door, and Enjolras sighed in frustration as he got up again to let Grantaire in.

The dark haired man was carrying a paper bad that smelled nothing short of amazing, and was  smiling hesitantly at Enjolras' exasperated look. "You don't have to knock."

"It seems weird to just like, walk in," Grantaire shrugged with one shoulder, almost dropping the bag. Enjolras immediately reached out, steadying the bag and trying not to be fond at Grantaire's sheepish grin. "Thanks. Where can I ... ?"

Enjolras didn't say anything, just lead Grantaire to the kitchen where he set down the bag on a counter. They ate in relative silence, Enjolras more hungry than he'd originally thought. When they were finished and cleaning up, Grantaire tentatively spoke up. "Uh, so you wanted to tell me something?"

Confused for a second, Enjolras remembered and frowned. "What? Ah, right. I think you'd better take a seat."

Grantaire sat down in a chair, and Enjolras sat opposite of him. "This isn't unnerving."

Sighing, Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fend off a headache. "I promised you I'd tell you everything, and unlike you, I intend to keep the fullest extent of mine," He began, words a little more pointed than he'd intended. Grantaire's eyes slid away in shame, and Enjolras felt mildly disgusted with himself, but he didn't take them back. "I have an ... idea. It's more of a plan, really."

"An idea?" Grantaire echoed softly.

"Yes," Enjolras replied, unable to meet the eyes Grantaire had on him. "I think it would be in everyones best interest if they were  — they were less attached to me. I don't want to hurt anyone when I finally  — "

"What are you talking about?"

Grantaire's voice was suddenly cold and accusatory, with a little bit of dread, stopping Enjolras abruptly. It almost scared Enjolras, this strange part of Grantaire he hadn't seen before.

"Because it's starting to sound like you're going to start pushing everyone away," Grantaire interrupted Enjolras before he could answer.

Enjolras gave Grantaire a icy stare. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

"For fuck's sake, this isn't a death sentence!" Grantaire was suddenly shouting. 

Usually, that would cause Enjolras to go on the defensive, to fight or antagonize.  But he was too tired, and he was never one to hide from the truth, especially one that could hurt people. Shoulder's slumped, and head angled down slightly, h e couldn't meet Grantaire's eyes.

H e stared at the table blankly. "Isn't it?"

Grantaire was stunned speechless for several seconds, mouth gaping open helplessly. Enjolras' eyes tracked up to him as Grantaire spoke, still at a loss for words. "You can't just — just give up," Grantaire managed, sounding like he was pleading.

"I was in the building with the fire, Grantaire, and I never wanted to leave. I would have done anything to stay in there at that moment. Anything," Enjolras repeated. He looked down at his hands, shocked to find them shaking. It took a moment before he realized, but it turned out his entire body was shaking, not just his hands.

"You were  —  you were in the building? Christ, fuck," Grantaire passed a hand over his eyes, and Enjolras watched him with vague curiosity. "You could have been  — "

"A body, with only dental records to identify me. I know," Enjolras said bitterly, shoulders slumped. He hated feeling this weak, this idiotic, and Grantaire was no longer helping.

More than anything, he was starting to feel the urge. Alarmed, Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows at Grantaire, mouth open to tell him.

"Grantaire  — "

"Oh, fuck you. I can't do this right now," Grantaire snarled, body coiled and tense. And then he was walking out, slamming the door behind him with an excess of force. It resonated in the  apartment , and Enjolras stared wide eyed at where the dark haired man had once been. 

Never had Enjolras imagined that Grantaire would give up on him, no matter what. 

It hurt, worse than Enjolras ever wanted to admit. The raw betrayal of it caused his throat to go dry, his hands to clench into fists as he tried to breath through it. Grantaire had promised, and then he'd just  _left_ , and Enjolras felt more alone with this than ever. 

How could Grantaire just  _leave_ like that? 

He didn't know what it was with Grantaire, but only he could make Enjolras feel like this. More than anything, Enjolras wanted to run out and beg him to stay and listen, because Enjolras was shaking and scared. He'd never felt this weak before, and it scared him.

Even worse was the growing edge of desperation inside, the itch begging to be scratched. Enjolras saw something on the floor, his gaze tracking downward. On the ground, there was a cheap lighter.

Grantaire must have dropped it.

Enjolras reached out, his hand shaking so much he almost couldn't grasp it in his hand. He swallowed, staring at the cheap plastic on the outside, and the clear fluid inside. The lighter itself was red, seemingly worn and used. The more Enjolras looked at it, the more hopeless it became to not flick it on.

He did so, the metal scraping his thumb. A fire flickered to life, and Enjolras let out a shuddering gasp. It seemed so small, so tiny and sad. 

It was like time had slowed, and the light in the house had dimmed. The only thing that seemed real at that moment was the tiny, flickering flame and the feeling of cheap metal heating against Enjolras thumb from where it was positioned. Enjolras reached for the paper bag Grantaire had brought, eyes never leaving the lighter.

He was just about to lower it to the flame when a hand reached out, grasping his wrist and blowing the lighter flame out. Enjolras gasped in surprise, reality crashing back like a giant wave, adrenaline racing through his veins. But the smell of Grantaire stopped him from struggling, lashing out in his confusion.

“Enj, it's me, it's all right. Christ, fuck, I'm so sorry,” Grantaire was breathing against his hair as he wrenched the lighter from Enjolras' grip despite the hot metal no doubt burning his hand. The way Grantaire was murmuring comforting words into his hair made no sense, because Enjolras was taller. But then Enjolras realized he was kneeling, fallen to his knees.

He'd been shaking too much to keep standing, just like when he'd set the warehouse on fire. “Grantaire?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

It must have sounded as awful and heartbreaking as Enjolras thought it did, because Grantaire's expression crumpled and he pulled Enjolras into his arms. 

“I shouldn't have left like that, fuck, I dropped my lighter of all fucking things,” Grantaire muttered to himself, his words harsh but his body so soft and warm. 

Grantaire didn't have the natural lean muscle Enjolras had, and his body was soft and comfortable. Enjolras rested his head on Grantaire's shoulder. “I was trying to tell you,” Enjolras managed at last, sounding like a croak. “When I said your name, I was going to tell you I was feeling it again, and you left. You left, how could you leave me? You  _promised_ .”

Grantaire's body went suddenly stiff, maybe at seeing Enjolras to open and weak, or maybe he was just that remorseful. “Oh, Christ, fuck.”

Enjolras wondered how many times he'd made Grantaire feel like that, deserving or no. That level of pain, his words choked and nearly heartbroken. He knew it must be often, but not like this. 

But Grantaire had come back. Unless Enjolras was hallucinating, Grantaire had come back and saved Enjorlas from one of his pyromaniac urges. Saved him from  _himself._ “You came back.”

“I know — I know I have no right to ask you this, but fuck, Enjolras, I'll be better. Please don't push me away. Don't go through this alone — “

“Let me up,” Enjolras said, sounding much more in control of himself.

“Please,” Grantaire pleaded, even as he obeyed Enjolras. He almost did it without even realizing, like listening to Enjolras' every word was subconscious.

“You left, but you came back,” Enjolras stated, like a irrefutable fact. “You stopped me before I did anything. You kept your promise. I won't — I won't push you away.”

“You won't?” Grantaire asked, the breath caught in his throat, like he couldn't dare to hope.

“No,” Enjolras smiled, though it was shaky and barely could count. “Will you ... stay with me, throughout the night? I don't know if I should be alone right now, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you.”

“Fuck, anything, Enjolras. I'd — I'd do anything for you,” Grantaire breathed, but he didn't wince at his own words this time, simply let the truth of them comfort Enjolras. 

It was strange how they  _did_ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented, I'll reply to those as soon as possible! I had a lot of free time this week, so I figured I'd post this early. I really like hearing from everyone, so please comment if you can.


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras hated the intrusive thoughts.

He almost hated them as much as he hated the dreams. They were certainly just as sick and disturbing. But the thoughts were more than that — he was conscious and awake, he should be able to _control_ them, and yet after every one he was left disgusted and so ashamed for his lack of control.

He knew he would never act on them, but the thoughts were still absolutely deplorable in nature, and the self-disgust he felt was almost too much at times.

Grantaire was sitting next to him on the couch, the lighter in his pocket making a shape in the fabric of his pants. Enjolras was tense, straining against each thought that occurred in his mind. The thoughts that told him to reach over, grab the lighter from Grantaire and run.

It would be easy. Grantaire was shorter than Enjolras, but more bulky, and he knew self-defense. But there would never be a world where Grantaire would be able to fight Enjolras, and Enjolras had to momentarily breathe through his nose, so aghast that he even amused the thought of fighting Grantaire.

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras tried to focus his attention back on Grantaire, and not those thoughts. Grantaire was also tense, for whatever reason Enjolras didn't know. There was a cushion of space between them, so the dark haired man couldn't possibly be affected by their closeness. Yet, every time Enjolras shifted, he could hear the hitch in Grantaire's breathing, and he could watch the muscles jump in Grantaire's forearms where his hoodie sleeves were rolled up.

The movie that Grantaire had put on was something on Netflix that Enjolras was sure neither of them were paying attention to. Despite the movie creating a decent cover from an uncomfortable silence, the air of the room still felt crisp and stagnant.

When Enjolras could bear it no longer, he knew he had to say something.

"Grantaire," Enjolras managed out eventually, his voice a small gasp. "The lighter — "

Almost reflexively, Grantaire's hand went to the shape the lighter made in his pocket, wary eyes on Enjolras. "Y-Yeah?"

"Throw it out the window," Enjolras struggled to say, forcing himself to ignore how a part of him cried out in protest. He was shaking ever so slightly, ashamed and mortified because he apparently couldn't even stand to be in the same room as a lighter now with conscious knowledge.

Grantaire's eyes widened in realization, a guilty expression crossing his face. "Is that why you were — fuck. You should have said something sooner." Grantaire got up, walking over the nearest window and opening it.

The cold air rushed in almost immediately, and Enjolras watched with hooded eyes as Grantaire chucked the lighter into the darkness of the city, never to be seen again. Feeling both relieved and mournful, Enjolras tiredly relaxed his muscles, shoulders slumping.

The credits of the movie were playing, the background music too low to avoid the terse silence. Grantaire still had the window open, and the air felt gloriously cool against Enjolras' skin, flushed with shame.

His voice was almost too soft to hear. "Thank you."

Grantaire came in front of him, the window now closed. He used his fingers to pull Enjolras' chin up so that they met eye to eye. "You don't have to feel ashamed of yourself. You know that, right? You can't help it."

Enjolras' nose wrinkled in disgust, and he slapped Grantaire's hand away with perhaps more force than necessary. "Your job is to watch me. Not pretend you could ever understand."

The harsh words were easy to hide behind, and they did a wonderful job of hiding how scared and contrite he actually felt. The affect of them showed on Grantaire's expression instantaneously, his eyes lowering and his brow furrowing.

"I want to," Grantaire said, breaking the harsh silence. "To understand. You never say anything about it — how am I supposed to help when all you do is push everyone away?"

The anger and resentment melted off of Enjolras' features, and he knew he must have looked so pained, so hurt, because Grantaire's expression crumpled.

"Tell me," Grantaire begged.

Enjolras didn't like feeling weak. He didn't like showing weakness, sadness or fear. And yet, his voice was soft when he spoke, so weak. "It hurts."

He turned his face away, unable to bear how useless he felt right then.

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras' hand, his fingers cold and calloused. There was nothing about the action that should be comforting, and Enjolras would usually be disgusted. But it warmed him, and it helped the hurt. Grantaire looked like he was feeling the pain right there with Enjolras.

Grantaire didn't say anything, but his expression prompted, _begged_ Enjolras to continue.

Enjolras had never told anyone this before. He'd never shown as much weakness as he was showing now — not even to Combeferre or Courfeyrac. It was horrible, carrying the burden he had alone, but he'd managed it so far.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that Enjolras was born the way he was, born to be _disgusted_ with himself day after day. So helpless, so weak. His hands curled into fists, fingernails scratching into his palms.

"If I didn't feel so repentant at who I am, I don't think I could live with myself."

It was silent again for a moment, and Enjolras swallowed around the dryness of his throat.

He closed his eyes. "I don't know how much longer I can bear to hate myself like I do."

When Enjolras risked a glance at Grantaire, the dark haired man was watching him with an indecipherable look of hurt in his eyes, and a dull ache settled in Enjolras' chest. It felt hollow and cold, lonely in nature.

But then Grantaire was pulling Enjolras into an embrace. Grantaire's arms wrapped tight around his body, holding him close in a way that made it seem Grantaire would never let go. For someone who always had such cold hands, Grantaire's body was so warm and comforting and human.

Enjolras was unnaturally still, but he relaxed into it, unable to fight the warmth of Grantaire's body. He was so tired of fighting his emotions, of hiding behind that cold and callous mask. Enjolras had found shelter in his anger and resentment, something so effective in hiding what he truly felt.

But Grantaire felt like shelter, too. He held Enjolras close, warmed him, comforted him,  _protected_ him.

Enjolras didn't know how long they sat like that, and he didn't remember falling asleep wrapped in Grantaire's arms.

*****

"Enj, Enj. Come on, wake up for a second," Grantaire's voice said from somewhere distantly, and Enjolras made a disgruntled sound and tried to throw out a hand. It seemed like a useless endeavor, as it only served to flail at Grantaire a moment before giving up and flopping down entirely.

Grantaire laughed, but it sounded sharp around the edges, like he would have been amused any other time. But there was a note of urgency in his voice that Enjolras couldn't place, was too tired and sleepy to even try.

"Grn'aire?" Enjolras mumbled incoherently, confused. He was in his bed, how did he end up there?

"Hey, I have to go. Something came up," Grantaire said, his hand was running through Enjolras' hair, and it felt so nice. Enjolras didn't even bother to open his eyes, too tired to make his brain work out why all of what was going on was wrong. Instead, he all but _purred_ happily and pushed his head into Grantaire's hand, nearly falling back asleep.

Grantaire made a disbelieving noise, and the hand in Enjolras' curls stopped. Enjolras sounded his disapproval, but to no avail, the hand left his hair entirely.

"Enj, come on. Don't fall back asleep. Are you okay? I need to leave like, uh, right now."

Tired and disoriented, Enjolras made another unhappy sound, feeling his chest constrict painfully. He didn't want Grantaire to go. He wanted Grantaire to stay right there and play with his hair and keep talking. Enjolras hadn't felt something as comforting and safe as he did right then.

"Will you cm' back?" Enjolras asked, voice slurred and rough with sleep.

There was a pause, like Grantaire was contemplating his answer, a hesitant tone to his voice. It was soft, and Enjolras could hear the lie. "Yes. Will you be fine for now?"

Enjolras wasn't fine. He was never fine.

"Mhm," He hummed, still barely coherent. He was already half asleep.

But he wasn't as asleep as Grantaire thought he was, because he could feel cold fingers brushing back the curls on his forehead and then the soft, if chapped touch of lips against his temple. It lasted a couple of moments, and then there was the painfully bittersweet feeling of Grantaire moving away.

It felt like an apology.

Enjolras couldn't remember ever wanting someone to stay so much.

*****

Enjolras woke up again with a bitter feeling in his chest, his mind flying back to all he'd said and done with Grantaire last night. He'd practically fallen asleep on the other man, and Enjolras swallowed against the mortified humiliation he felt. And the utter weakness he'd shown, oh God.

Grantaire had left, and Enjolras' mind immediately flew to the thought that Grantaire left because he'd seen that part of Enjolras, the part Enjolras tried to hide most of all. He should never have shown it to Grantaire — what had possessed him to be so foolish?

For awhile, Enjolras pulled the comforter over his head and stared at the darkness. Eventually, it got too hot, and he pulled it down and stared out his room's window, the sky outside grey. Water droplets scattered across the glass, and Enjolras closed his eyes.

Before he could tell himself why it was a bad idea, he was calling Grantaire, counting on the other man to pick up before Enjolras could cower out. But the line rang an indeterminable amount of times before it dropped.

Grantaire _always_ answered his phone. For Enjolras, at least.

Enjolras was calling him again before he knew what he was doing, a deep feeling that something was wrong planted firmly in his head. As the line rang, Enjolras' heart was racing faster and faster, apprehensive.

Just as it was about to go to voicemail, Grantaire picked up, and Enjolras could have sworn his heart stopped.

"Yullo?" Grantaire said thickly.

Enjolras felt foolish for even calling, but something still felt wrong. "You ... you didn't come back."

"'M sorry," Grantaire breathed, his words heavy and deliberate, like he couldn't coordinate his tongue into proper movement. His speech was slurred. "'M really sorry, Enj'ras."

Enjolras closed his eyes, his heart stuttering in his chest because he knew, he _knew_ , and he desperately didn't want to believe it.

Enjolras took in a shaky breath and tried to bite back the tide of it. "Grantaire, are you —" His voice broke, and he had to swallow to speak again. "Are you _drunk_?"

It hurt. Something about all of this was ironic, that last night Enjolras had been hurting and Grantaire was the one to comfort him, and now Grantaire was the one causing the hurt. Enjolras hated feeling like this — hated that he'd even thought to tell Grantaire what he had. He shouldn't have done that.

He should have never dragged Grantaire into this.

He should have never trusted Grantaire like he had.

"Don't be mad, Enj, I tried. I tried really hard," Grantaire whined, sounding genuinely reprimanded, like he was a child.

"I shouldn't ... I shouldn't have expected more from you. I shouldn't have trusted you with this," Enjolras said, almost to himself. It was easier to say things aloud, because at least then he could filter his thoughts. Grantaire had promised Enjolras he would stay and watch over him, and now Grantaire was drunk and barely coherent.

Enjolras felt foolish, humiliated at the fact that it even crossed his mind to trust Grantaire with this. That he'd actually believed at one point that it would work, that Grantaire would be there through the worst of it.

"I didn't drink for a long time, not since you told me about the fire," Grantaire hastened to explain. "I tried really, really hard. I promise. I wanted to be good for you."

"You abandoned me to drink when I could have been — when you promised — " Enjolras' tongue couldn't form the words, feeling like lead in his mouth. His throat was dry, and he hung up before he could offer Grantaire another chance. A way to fix this.

Enjolras threw on some clothes, throwing on a hoodie over the shirt he slept in and a pair of jeans that probably needed washed. He was distantly aware of his phone thrumming in his pocket, Grantaire calling him back with probably too much guilt to bear.

Let him bear it. It was just what Grantaire deserved for making Enjolras feel like this.

Enjolras knew he had responsibilities that day — he had classes, and had to prepare for their meeting tomorrow. He ignored it.

The rain outside wasn't heavy, but was enough that Enjolras pulled his hood over his dampened curls after only a couple minutes walking. He had no idea what he was doing, where he was going — but he didn't really care, either.

It reminded him of the night where he'd lost control. The feeling of complete apathy towards any and all future events, and all that mattered was the present. All that mattered was impulse, just like the fire. It lashed out without prediction or clear direction, ignited what it wanted and left it behind charred and desolate.

Enjolras knew he should go home and stay in his bed, where he could be certain he wouldn't do anything rash or stupid.

He didn't.

The rain made it so that Enjolras was almost the only pedestrian out, but the occasional person would walk by and give him a perplexed look. Eventually, just when he felt too shaky to keep walking, he found himself staring at the burned warehouse in the distance, where flames had once stood high and proud, all because of what Enjolras had done.

The scene was cleared now, and all that remained was the charred and burnt lot the warehouse had resided on.

He remembered everything about those moments now. Enjolras stared, eyes hooded.

Reaching into his pocket, he dialed Combeferre's number and held his breath as he waited.

"Hello?" Combeferre's voice filtered through his phone, and Enjolras sighed in relief. Enjolras didn't say anything, just listened to his friend's breathing on the other side of the line until Combeferre spoke again. "Enjolras — is everything all right?"

Enjolras let out a shaky scoff, running a hand through his damp hair. "No."

"Is it ... ?" Combeferre trailed off, tentative and patient.

Enjolras closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to lie, leaning against the nearest brick wall. "It's — it's — " But the words wouldn't come, and Enjolras scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration.

Combeferre spoke again, this time softer. "Are you outside?"

He must be hearing the sounds of the city in the background, Enjolras realized. "I didn't know where to go — I can't stand to waste away in my bed another day because I'm — because I'll ... "

Enjolras could have told Combeferre. It seemed like such an easy feat now, to just get it over with immediately. But the words wouldn't come again, and this time it felt like true cowardice. Enjolras was so frustrated with the mix of emotions Grantaire was making him feel, coupled with the urge that was thrumming in the back of his mind desperately.

Combeferre wasn't saying anything.

Enjolras' voice was quiet, resigned. "Can I come over?"

"Yes," Combeferre said finally. "The door is unlocked."

Enjolras knew the way to Combeferre's place like the back of his hand. He didn't live very far away from where Enjolras was, and yet he still felt like his legs were lead, and each step was the biggest inconvenience. When Combeferre's apartment building came into sight, Enjolras let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, his stride quickening.

He'd been to Combeferre's enough times so that it wasn't strange to just let himself in, the sight of Combeferre's small and surprisingly messy apartment a comfort despite everything. Combeferre was in the small kitchenette, pouring them both a cup of coffee.

He didn't mention anything about Enjolras' appearance, and Enjolras was infinitely grateful.

"I could make tea, if you'd prefer," Combeferre said, taking a seat in one of the chairs in the kitchen. The table was small, only meant for two people, but three chairs usually surrounded it. Enjolras had many fond memories of bumping knees with his friends whenever they came to Combeferre's and had dinner.

Today, however, Enjolras noticed that there were only two chairs.

One for Courfeyrac, and one for Combeferre, because Enjolras was no longer in the picture.

The relief at seeing his friend was short lived, and Enjolras swallowed against the worst of it and shook his head. "Coffee's fine," He managed out, taking a seat in the other chair.

"Courfeyrac was calling you," Combeferre said eventually, after a short silence. "He's been worried sick. I have been, too."

Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows, giving Combeferre a confused look. "How long was I gone?"

"When Courfeyrac got back to your apartment, he noticed you were gone and called you, and when you didn't pick up, he called me. That was two hours ago," Combeferre explained patiently, taking a sip of his coffee like the news he just told Enjolras wasn't absolutely devastating.

He'd lost time again.

Enjolras put his hands into his face and took a deep breath. Everything was wrong, and there was no way to fix it. He'd hoped he'd be at least somewhat comforted by his friend, but ever since walking through Combeferre's door he felt worse.

"Did you not go to class today?" Combeferre asked.

"No," Enjolras replied, staring at the mug of coffee Combeferre set out in front of him. It looked warm, and Enjolras had just spent his entire morning and some of his afternoon in the cold rain. He turned his face away from it. He didn't deserve to feel warm.

"Enjolras, I can't help you if I don't know what the problem is," Combeferre said gently.

"I can't tell you," Enjolras stared at his own hands, unable to meet Combeferre's worried gaze. Enjolras never acted like this. "I — I told Grantaire, and he said he would help me. He abandoned me to get drunk this morning."

"He abandoned you?" Combeferre sounded vaguely affronted at the very thought, and for some reason, it put Enjolras on the defensive.

"You and Courfeyrac are doing the same," He spat, like a cornered tiger lashing out in fear. "You have no room to talk."

Combeferre's eyebrows furrowed. "We're not — "

A part of Enjolras begged him not to say what he was about to say. He never spoke to his friends like this, especially to Combeferre. He knew that it was a bad idea, and it would lead to nothing good. He knew he would regret it.

It was like starting a fire. Enjolras was helpless to try stopping it.

"If you want to get rid of me so bad, then just do it already."

Enjolras almost expected Combeferre to be angry, to reach to Enjolras' level and spit back equally hurtful words. But Combeferre's expression turned pained, and he gave Enjolras a look he couldn't decipher.

The silence after that was almost unbearable, Enjolras' heart racing faster and faster as the moments wore on. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, much too similar to the adrenaline he felt when he'd set the warehouse on fire. It was the same restless energy — enough to make Enjolras tense in his seat, his muscles jumping.

"Is that truly how you feel?" Combeferre managed out eventually.

Enjolras clenched his fists, rising up out of his chair. "It's what I've noticed."

"Enjolras, we're not — we're not trying to exclude you," Combeferre said, almost desperately. Enjolras narrowed his eyes, letting out a small snort. "We're your friends."

"Friends," Enjolras echoed, disbelieving. Courfeyrac and Combeferre considered him their friend, even when Enjolras kept so much from them. They didn't know that, of course, but _Enjolras_ did, and the guilt was awful. He closed his eyes, face wrinkled. "If only you knew."

He didn't deserve their friendship. Enjolras was awful; he kept so many things hidden from them. He set buildings on fire just to watch them burn, with little care to who got hurt or what happened.

Enjolras didn't remember much after that. He remembered leaving Combeferre's, but he couldn't remember if he'd been kicked out or he'd just run away. Everything after that was just a blur. Everything was insignificant compared to his racing thoughts.

Somehow, he ended up sitting against a brick wall in an alley, where passerby's occasionally stopped and gave him curious stares. Enjolras was sure he looked miserable.

He never felt so alone as he did in that moment, and he knew that he was just as much to blame as his friends. It still hurt. Nothing about this day was right, and it made Enjolras curl in on himself and miserably try to hold in some of his own body heat. He'd been out in the cold for awhile, and his hands felt numb.

Enjolras felt numb, too. Nothing seemed real, a small part of him refusing to believe things could have gone so _wrong_ in just the space of a day.

Enjolras wished he'd never bothered to get up in the morning. Everything about this day was wrong, and Enjolras knew it was a bad idea to even go out on days like this. It was his own fault for even getting out of bed.

"Enjolras?" A bright voice asked from the opening of the alley, and Cosette was there, giving him a curious stare with her wide brown eyes. She was wearing winter clothes, looking considerably warmer and happier than him, and the sight was too much to bear. He didn't necessarily care about looking weak anymore, he just didn't want to lash out at another person.

Enjolras blinked at her, pulling his hood up and burying his face into his arms.

He could hear footsteps approaching, but he didn't bother to look up.

Enjolras jumped when a hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up from the shelter of his arms. Cosette was smiling invitingly, a couple of grocery bags clutched in her hands. Her umbrella now covered the both of them, shielding them from the rain. "How's the rain?" She asked.

"Good," Enjolras replied, staring at her. "Cold."

"You look cold," She said, her smile almost unbelievably kind. Cosette was kneeling down, and for the first time that day Enjolras felt something other than pain. "How long have you been out here?"

Enjolras frowned. "I don't know. Hours."

"You know," She began, her voice a conspiratory whisper. "I've heard that you can angst in warm and dry places just the same as in cold and rainy alleyways."

Enjolras wanted to smile. "Where'd you hear that?"

"On the streets," Cosette replied, deadpan. Enjolras could feel a slight tugging at his lips, but he was still feeling too subdued to smile properly. "Would you like to help me bake cookies? I can't bake at all, but Marius seems to think I can. Don't tell him, he'll be devastated."

"If ... if you're sure. I haven't exactly been great company today," Enjolras warned her, wary.

"Can you bake?"

"I can try."

"You're in," Cosette beamed, offering a hand. "First job: carry the bags for me."

Enjolras stared at her in utter disbelief as she forced all of her bags into his hands, and he was vaguely surprised by how heavy they were. He knew he was staring stupidly, but nobody had ever warmed up to him that fast. Enjolras was under the impression he was quite intimidating. " ... All right."

"My house isn't too much further away. I'm lucky I found you, my arms were getting tired," Cosette said conversationally as they made their way to her house. Cosette had the fortune of being able to live with her father still, who Enjolras heard was rich.

When they arrived at the house, just where the suburbs started, Enjolras stared in surprise. He'd been expecting a large house in an expensive neighborhood, but Cosette's house was like any other.

"Oh, don't act so surprised. It's nicer on the inside," She said, rolling her eyes. Enjolras just blinked at her, following her inside.

In the kitchen, he set the bags down on a counter and assessed his surroundings. It wasn't as nice as the house Enjolras had grown up in, but it was obvious that the people living here led a very rich lifestyle. As soon as Cosette was done putting away the perishables into the fridge, she turned to Enjolras, head cocked the side.

"I won't pry, but ... Are you really all right?"

Enjolras stared down at the floor. Between what happened with Grantaire and Combeferre, he didn't know if he could deal with another fight. But it seemed cowardly to lie in front of Cosette's blind kindness. His voice was hesitant when he spoke. "I will be," He said, neither a lie nor the truth.

The truth was that he didn't know if he would be all right. He had no idea how to apologize to Combeferre, and just thinking about Grantaire made his heart ache in a way he never experienced before.

"We all have those days," Cosette assured him, a kind smile on her face.

Enjolras pursed his lips, wondering if he could tell her that _everyday_ was that type of day for him as of late. He didn't say anything, though, just crossed his arms and tried not to shiver. He'd been out in the cold for such a long time that he'd grown accustomed to it, but now in the warmth of Cosette's house, he felt it.

Cosette noticed, giving him a curious stare. "You're completely drenched — I don't think we have anything that would fit you. Would you like a towel?"

The warmth of Cosette's house didn't affect him so much as the kindness Cosette had shown him. It seemed to lift the part of Enjolras that was sulking under his own thoughts, and he soon began to feel like his usual steely self.

Enjolras took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. He gave Cosette a genuine smile, shaking his head. "No, I think I should go. Thank you, Cosette."

"I didn't do anything," She protested, flushing.

"You know what I mean. I have to apologize to Combeferre, and talk to Grantaire."

"Well ..., if you insist. But no more sulking in the rain," Cosette told him, lightly reprimanding. Enjolras would normally feel indignant, but Cosette didn't make it undignified.

Besides, she had a point.

"No, I've had enough of that for one day."

*****

Combeferre wasn't the priority right then.

Enjolras walked to Grantaire's apartment with his usual determined stride, walking with all the confidence and grace that he felt. He was going to work something out, and if not, then he would find a way to do this alone. Enjolras was never the type to stay down for long.

He was determined to fix this.

He knocked on Grantaire's apartment door before he could hesitate in doing so. There was a distant shuffling he heard, and then the door opened and Grantaire appeared.

He looked wretched. The bags under his eyes seemed somehow much more pronounced than when Enjolras had last seen him, and his inky curls were splayed in almost every direction. There was a dull gleam to his eye, only lightening up in disbelief when he saw that it was Enjolras who knocked. His lips parted in surprise, but Enjolras put a hand over his mouth before he could say anything.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras with wide eyes, looking down at the hand Enjolras had on him.

"Let me in," Enjolras said, and Grantaire was moving to do so without a second thought.

"Enjolras — "

Enjolras gave him a look that effectively shut Grantaire up. The inside of Grantaire's house was warm, just like Cosette's had been. Perhaps he really should take Cosette's advice and angst in a dry place next time.

"I wanted to apologize," Enjolras said, before he could talk himself out of it. "It was unfair of me to admit those things to you. Really, I should have expected it, considering how you feel about me. Of course it would affect you the way it did."

"Am I — am I having a stroke?" Grantaire asked incredulously.

Enjolras sighed in frustration, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms to hide the way he was shivering. "You can either accept my apology, or refuse it."

"But ... you didn't do anything," Grantaire managed out at last, seemingly unable to process Enjolras' very presence right then. "I was the one who fucked up and left. I, uh. I should be the one apologizing."

"Accepted," Enjolras said automatically.

"But you didn't even think — "

"I don't care to. I've been doing too much of that today, and that got me _nowhere_."

"I need to sit down," Grantaire said, and Enjolras gestured to one of the couches in Grantaire's living room. Grantaire ended up sitting on the couch, and Enjolras sitting on the coffee table in front of him so that they could speak face to face. "Also, can you text Courf or something?"

"Why?" Enjolras tilted his head in confusion.

"Uh, he's been worried sick all day. So has Combeferre. Fuck, so have _I_."

Enjolras was completely bewildered. He'd expected his friends to be pissed with him for all he'd said and done, not worry about him in his absence. Still, he pulled out his phone and dialed Courfeyrac's number. Courfeyrac had tried to call him thirteen times.

The line picked up, with Courfeyrac's breathless exclamation. "Oh my god, Enjolras — "

"I'm fine," Enjolras told him, trying to quell his friends worry. "It's all right. I'm at Grantaire's."

"You weren't picking up anyone's calls — it was like you disappeared," Courfeyrac managed out, his voice tight. "Everyone's been worried sick — and you fought with Combeferre, you never do that — “

“I know,” Enjolras said grimly, feeling the waves of remorse. “I was upset and I took it out on him. But I promise I'm fine, I'll explain everything later. I have to go."

He ended the call before Courfeyrac could protest, feeling vaguely guilty but knowing it was the right thing to do. Combeferre and Courfeyrac would forgive him, he was sure. But Grantaire was still staring at Enjolras like he was an apparition, and taking his eyes off him once would make him disappear.

"You could have kept talking to him," Grantaire said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. Enjolras watched the movement, but eventually brought his eyes back to Grantaire.

"I want to keep our arrangement," Enjolras said, stoic. He continued on before his courage could fail him, though it never had before. "I can't manage this alone, and I've already done something awful once. But, with last night being an exception, you haven't failed me yet."

Grantaire was staring at him, mouth open slightly in shock.

"Well?" Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrows at Grantaire.

"What? How is that even a question?" Grantaire gaped, blinking. "Of course, you know I wouldn't be able to say no to you."

"You can," Enjolras said gravely, voice serious. "I don't want to bring you into something you don't want to be a part of. It's not going to go away, and the chances are I'll have to deal with this for awhile. That _you'll_  have to deal with it for awhile. This isn't — this isn't a game."

"I never said it was," Grantaire shook his head, but some resolve settled on his face. "You know I'll help you. But ... "

"But?" Enjolras prompted.

"You, uh. You know how I am. With the drinking," Grantaire said, looking ashamed. Enjolras had attentive eyes on Grantaire, but Grantaire's gaze was somewhere towards the floor. "I'm not exactly reliable."

Enjolras knew about Grantaire's drinking problem. It wasn't a genuine concern yet, and it didn't seem to be interfering with his life and work too much, but he still drank much more than the average person. Enjolras tried to ignore the worry that crawled it's way into his mind without him noticing.

Realizing Grantaire was waiting for him to say something, Enjolras gathered in a breath before he spoke. "I trust you."

The truth of the words hung in the air heavily, and the silence that followed was terse, but Enjolras didn't take them back. Instead, Enjolras stared into his mismatched gaze with conviction, a steely sort of determination Grantaire would remember later, when he was still doubting Enjolras' words.

Grantaire seemed to be incapable of comprehending them and he stared at Enjolras for a length of time, unable to find the words to say to that. Enjolras waited patiently, ignoring the way his skin was prickling in goosebumps, from either the cold or anticipation, he didn't know.

When Grantaire spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant. "You do?"

"Yes," Enjolras replied instantly. "I wouldn't have said it if I don't. I trust you, Grantaire."

Grantaire certainly wouldn't be able to doubt that. With today being an exception, Enjolras hardly ever said things he didn't mean at least on some level.

It was times like this that Enjolras was abruptly aware of Grantaire's adoration with him. Grantaire was staring at Enjolras with such raw devotion in his eyes, like Enjolras was the most kind and considerate person he'd ever met. Grantaire's eyes weren't strictly the same color, but they never failed to captivate Enjolras, especially when he was looking at something like this.

With purpose.

Grantaire was staring at Enjolras with _love_ , a deep veneration that made Enjolras' heart quicken, conflicting with the way his chest ached.

"Enjolras."

Enjolras looked up, wondering when his gaze had roamed from Grantaire's eyes to his lips, to the scruff and stubble that hid his impressive jaw. Despite the appearance the stubble gave, his lips seemed so pink, red almost, and though they were a bit chapped, Enjolras could imagine them as soft, gentle.

"I — Grantaire," Enjolras breathed, standing up and removing himself from Grantaire's proximity, needing to put some space between them before he did something he didn't mean.

Grantaire looked like he'd lost something, his face going torn when Enjolras moved away.

Enjolras had felt cold only moments before, but now it seemed much too hot. He refused to even acknowledge whatever it was he was feeling, but deep down he knew. Enjolras didn't feel it often, and he did his best to ignore it when he could, but he was feeling attraction.

To Grantaire, of all people.

Momentarily panicking, Enjolras' breath came out quick and short, and Grantaire seemed similarly affected, no doubt coming to terms with the conclusion that Enjolras was affected by Grantaire as well. "It's not — " Enjolras began, cutting himself off before he could make it worse.

Grantaire's mouth was open, his eyelids hooded.

Enjolras desperately tried not to think about what that could imply. Why was he suddenly so affected by Grantaire's arousal, now of all times? "I should — I should go."

It was idiotic, because Enjolras had come here to fix things, and he'd been so close to doing so. But he could regret leaving later. For now, he just needed to breathe fresh air.

The door was right in his reach, and Enjolras could have let out a sigh of relief when his fingers came into contact with the doorknob. He was just about to pull it open when a hand grabbed his forearm, and Grantaire's imploring eyes were on him.

Oh, to hell with it.

Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's black curls, his pale fingers clashing against the dark color, and he twisted them so that he could pull Grantaire's lips to his. Grantaire made an absolutely obscene noise, something between a surprised gasp and a whimper, and he showed his devotion to Enjolras in a whole new way as their mouths came into contact.

It was the impulse again, the fire controlling his thoughts, making him act without thinking. But nothing felt as right as Grantaire's lips did right then, soft now that they were wet and so, so gentle.

Enjolras didn't want gentle. He wasn't a gentle man. His fingers clutched Grantaire's curls harder, and he pulled him into a more bruising kiss, and Enjolras had no idea what he was doing, but he was sliding his mouth against Grantaire's before he was aware of it.

Grantaire was trying to pull back, and it was then that Enjolras realized neither of them were breathing, too caught up in the moment to remember the necessity. Enjolras didn't want to part, he never wanted to let go, because surely sense would reassert itself and he would be left with exactly why it was a bad idea.

His grip gentled in Grantaire's hair, and Grantaire took the oppurtunity to pull back and gasp against Enjolras' mouth. They were still so close, noses pressed together. Grantaire didn't seem very inclined to move away much further, and they simply caught their breath sharing the same air.

"God — god, Enjolras — " Grantaire whined, and his tongue ran over his lips. They were close enough that it touched Enjolras', and suddenly all common sense was lost again.

Enjolras pulled him into another crushing kiss, still so inexperienced and unaware of what he was doing, just knowing it felt good. Grantaire's hand came up, and Enjolras made a noise as it slipped into his hair and tugged when it came across a knot. Despite the heat of their mouths, Grantaire's hand was infinitely gentle, running through the tangled curls.

When they parted again, Enjolras just leaned his forehead against Grantaire's, breathing heavily. The hand he once had in Grantaire's hair was now curled around his neck, simply clutching there and shaking slightly. Grantaire's breath hitched when Enjolras' other hand traced along his back.

Enjolras could still taste Grantaire in his mouth, and he was so aghast with what he'd done that he couldn't even find the strength to push him away, eyes slipping shut as Grantaire scratched along his scalp.

"H-holy fuck, you look ... " Grantaire gasped out, his eyes wide on Enjolras.

Enjolras was sure he must make quite a sight, the usually composed leader flushed and gasping, lips red from kissing and hair disheveled from Grantaire's hand.

It felt horrible, pushing Grantaire away so that they had space between them. Enjorlas couldn't quite meet his eyes, his breathing still quickened. "I'll — I'll text you when I get back," He said, and left as quickly as he could.

The image of Grantaire's stricken expression was imprinted in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this chapter was just a solid block of angst. Hopefully the kind-of make out session towards the end lightened things up a bit? Hope you enjoyed, please give me any feedback if you liked it! I love hearing what people think.


	4. Chapter 4

The day had been rainy and cold, but that was nothing compared to the chill the night brought.

Enjolras walked with his shoulder's tensed, body coiled like a spring that would erupt into chaos the moment pressure was applied. His hands were shoved in his hoodie pockets, fingers curling together to try and find some warmth against the numbness.

His hoodie was still wet and cold from the rain that had mostly subsided by then, but that only seemed to make it worse somehow. Enjolras could still feel Grantaire's warmth, the way the ghost feeling of his lips lingered on Enjolras', and the warm hands that had mused his hair.

Enjolras ran his tongue over his bottom lip, still tasting the faint taste of bitter alcohol and cigarette smoke, and he desperately wished he had a piece of chewing gum. Something strong and minty, enough to overpower the overwhelming taste of Grantaire in his mouth.

The weight of the guilt, coupled with his own humiliation was almost too much to bear. His legs hurt and ached, protesting every step from walking all day, and perhaps the muscles were affected by the cold as well.

He wondered how he could possibly apologize to Grantaire for what he'd done. The impulsive behavior was another symptom, he realized grimly, closing his eyes. It was getting worse, seemingly all at once. Losing time, impulsive tendencies, fire starting ... How long would it be before reality slipped away from him entirely?

Enjolras wished he had the courage to get help, but nothing would devastate him more than being confined to a certain place for an indefinite amount of time, like a psychiatric hospital. In fact, Enjolras knew it almost as a certainty that it would only cause him to get _worse_ , not better.

But there was a lingering comfort in the way he'd kissed Grantaire. He had wanted to kiss Grantaire. It hadn't been a spur of the moment, sudden and brash decision. Before he felt the impulse, he'd been entranced by Grantaire. It wasn't exactly a particularly comforting thought though, alarming more than anything.

On top of everything else, the last thing he needed was an attraction to Grantaire. Grantaire didn't deserve the mixed signals and emotions, certainly not with the way he was helping Enjolras. It would be beyond cruel to pull Grantaire in the flames with him.

And still his mind wandered to the feeling of stubble scraping against his skin, the way Grantaire's gaze had been heated and intense, igniting a spark inside of Enjolras he hadn't known was there. Ironically enough, Grantaire had lit a fire inside of _him_.

The walk to Enjolras' apartment was both too long and too short. He'd momentarily forgotten the concern he'd conflicted his friends with the past day — and the cruel words that had escaped his mouth, God.

Enjolras slipped in, wondering if he could quietly sneak into his room and pretend like he was too exhausted to form a proper apology, but as he walked past the kitchen, he paused.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat at the table, hand in hand while Courfeyrac's other hand twitched in aborted movements on his phone, like he was trying to type out a careful response to someone. Combeferre was reading a book, but his pupils weren't moving across the page, and his gaze seemed blank and distant somehow.

However, his thumb brushed over Courfeyrac's hand in a thoughtless, comforting gesture, and Enjolras wished he could comprehend that. A bond like that, with his friends so happy and secure, and Enjolras had made it about himself somehow, not to mention the concern and worry they'd awarded him the past day.

They sat side by side, neither of them noticing Enjolras' darkened shadow at the entryway. He averted his gaze, a lump in his throat. When he pulled one of his freezing hands from his hoodie pocket, it was shaking so much that he immediately drew it back in.

With an air of finality, he cleared his throat.

Both of their eyes flew up in an instant, Courfeyrac's chair skidding back as he abruptly stood up. "Enjolras — "

Enjolras held up a hand as Courfeyrac came towards him, ignoring the way it was shaking so much that it caught all of their attention. He shoved it in his pocket, stepping forwards to take the other chair. With a edge of hysteria, he couldn't help but notice he still kept out three.

Courfeyrac was still standing, his expression melting into a mixture of concern and relief, and Enjolras hated himself for putting that face on Courfeyrac. It was a look of relief after one of pain and fear.

Enjolras stared at his lap, body shaking either from the cold or situation he was in, he didn't know. "I — I'm sorry."

Combeferre's eyes widened, and Courfeyrac's mouth gaped. For awhile, it was quiet, nobody willing to break the silence as they comprehended Enjolras' words.

"You're — " Combeferre began.

"Sorry?" Courfeyrac finished.

Enjolras clenched his hands into fists, watching the shape it made in the wet fabric of his hoodie. "Yes ... I'm very sorry. I — I know I have no right to ask either of you two this, but if you could possibly find a way to ... to forgive the things I've said and done in the past day, then that. That would be very kind." But not realistic, Enjolras added to himself sullenly.

Enjolras wasn't looking when Courfeyrac grabbed him, pulling him into a bone crushing hug that successfully stopped Enjolras from any more of his rambling apologies. This embrace was different from the one he shared with Grantaire — Grantaire's had ignited a fire, left his heart beating fast and his breath short and quick.

This hug calmed him, and he couldn't help but slump into Courfeyrac's arms, the warmth chasing away the dread of the day. Courfeyrac didn't seem to mind the wetness or coldness of Enjolras, just held him in that same tight embrace.

When Courfeyrac pulled back, Enjolras had an insufferable urge to pull him closer again. There were times when Courfeyrac's hugs were exasperating and frustrating, and sometimes it left Enjolras feeling both fond and annoyed, but he'd never experienced it like this before. It was as if being close to another person, a friend, had a type of healing quality.

Combeferre's eyes were weary, and his face tired. "Please don't apologize to us, Enjolras."

Enjolras stared at him, bewildered and confused. They should be outraged at his behavior the past couple hours, not at his apologies. "The things I said to you. I've been worrying you all both all day."

"It's our fault," Courfeyrac breathed, still holding him but pulling away. "We made you feel like that."

"No, that's not — that's not how I actually feel."

Combeferre frowned, shaking his head. "You can't lie to me, Enjolras. You know that. You meant every word you said."

"I — I — " Enjolras began, but the words wouldn't come, and his expression twisted.

Of course Combeferre would know that he was lying when he said he didn't mean every word of that. Perhaps the words could have been put more gently, but the truth behind them was all too evident, and it should have been a given that Combeferre would notice. Enjolras' hands curled in the fabric of Courfeyrac's shirt.

"There's something else," Combeferre began, looking uncertain. Courfeyrac pulled away fully, scooting his chair close to Enjolras, but they were no longer touching.

"You've been ... You've been hiding stuff from us, and I know you don't have to tell us — it'd be awful to make you, I know that. But God, Enjolras, we're worried. With the depression, and the sneaking around with Grantaire that you keep insisting isn't anything. But ... " Courfeyrac trailed off, lost.

"And then today, when you were gone, and you weren't answering anybody's calls," Combeferre said, trying to finish Courfeyrac's thought. They'd always been able to do that, and Enjolras never failed to marvel at how in sync they were, mentally and physically.

Enjolras stared at him. He could tell him, and it would be that easy. He wouldn't have to lie and manipulate and take advantage of their kindness and concern any longer. It seemed so attainable in that moment, and that wasn't entirely due to his impulsive nature as of late. But he lowered his eyes, and he saw Courfeyrac's expression twist out of the corner of his eye.

"Won't you tell us?"

"I can't," Enjolras managed, licking his chapped lips and not meeting their eyes. "You know I'd tell you if I could. But I can't. I'm — I'm sorry."

When he looked up, their expressions were soft, if albeit hurt in a way Enjolras had never made them before. He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, but Courfeyrac was getting his attention, and Combeferre's voice was determined, passionate.

"We understand. The exuding you. We won't let you feel like that any longer. We've been awful friends, Enjolras, it's only natural that you wouldn't tell us this. We understand."

"Just let us fix it, all right?" Courfeyrac finished.

Enjolras stared at him, almost feeling a physical pain in his heart.

He felt _t_ _orn_.

"All right."

*****

Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac all agreed it was best for Enjolras to take a leave of absence from college for an indeterminable amount of time. Courfeyrac seemed relieved that Enjolras agreed when Combeferre mentioned it, though Enjolras couldn't understand why.

To him, it seemed like a sign of failure, a downward spiral into the inevitable. Sure, he could resume classes, but the chances of that seemed very bleak at the moment.

The meeting the next day was uneventful, and if Enjolras was just a little more under-prepared than he usually would have allowed, then who could blame him? Everyone knew the incident that had happened yesterday, and he was shocked when he found out just how many of them had worried.

Grantaire didn't drink during the meeting, much to everyone's confusion and bewilderment. He sat quietly at his table, Joly prodding curiously at him occasionally, which Grantaire would briefly smile at but otherwise remain unaffected. He wore a ridiculous dark grey beanie on his head, hiding his messy curls from sight, just so that they curled around the corners of the hat.

His eyes, ever the source of frustration for Enjolras, were pinned on him throughout the entire meeting. Enjolras had been saying one thing or another, leaving the rest for Combeferre to continue as it was his turn to speak. Enjolras couldn't help how his eyes wandered to Grantaire, captivated by the thick stubble on his jaw as Combeferre spoke indistinctly next to him.

Those unevenly colored eyes were on him, the unnatural lighting of the Musain accentuating the way one was obviously darker. In some light, it wasn't noticeable, but now Enjolras could clearly see the green of the other reflecting. He knew he should pay attention to what Combeferre was saying, but his eyes were still trained on Grantaire.

After the meeting, he lingered again, with much more free time now that he didn't have to study. However, his heart dropped somewhere to his stomach when his phone began ringing, and he saw the caller ID.

He made a twisted expression at his phone, wishing he could ignore it. Instead, he excused himself from his friends and walked outside, swallowing against his momentary panic. Combeferre had been right — it did snow that day. While they'd been having a meeting, the concrete sidewalk had been covered in white, but it seemed to be calming down.

With a shuddering breath that wasn't just from the cold, Enjolras answered.

"Hello."

"You can't drop out, Enjolras. It's irresponsible — " His mother began, and he could almost hear the tightness around her lips from her most recent cosmetic surgery.

"I'm not dropping out," Enjolras cut her off, ignoring the racing of his heart. "It's not even going to be for a semester."

"You've never been a lazy child, I don't know where this is coming from. Is it the work?" She asked, as if she was being kind in indulging his affairs. He didn't know why she bothered to call, because it wasn't like she cared either way. "You know I could hire you a — "

Enjolras took a deep breath. "It's not that. My GPA is like it's always been."

"Then there's no reason for you to drop out like this. It won't look good."

Pursing his lips, Enjolras fought for patience against the rising tide of anger. It wouldn't be the first time he'd snapped at his mother, nor would it probably be the last, but he didn't feel like arguing right now. Did it even occur to her that he wasn't emotionally stable enough to continue? "I don't care how it _looks_."

"Well, your father and I do. You've never quit on anything before. Enjolras, this is _important_."

"I know that," He seethed, growing frustrated. It was ridiculous, and he wanted to hang up more than anything. "God, did it even occur to you that I'm not in the right mental state to continue this right now?" The word's tumbled out, and he regretted them almost immediately. Not because they were harsh, but because she still wouldn't understand.

"What do you mean?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious. He hated the way there was concern laced in there, wishing it could be simple and easy to hate her.

"I need to take a break," Enjolras explained, letting out a resigned sigh.

"Honey, are you all right? Your father and I can arrange an appointment with — "

"No!" Enjolras interjected immediately, almost shouting it. A passerby looked at him momentarily, but soon carried on their way. Enjolras stared at the ground, wondering how he could possibly explain this in a way his mother would understand. He didn't want to be weak and take a break from his school — surely she would know that. "I'll be fine."

Enjolras didn't know what he hated so much about lying. He didn't necessarily enjoy telling the truth, because it turned out life was so much more easier the more you lied about everything. But lately it seemed like every word that came out of his mouth was a lie, and he didn't know if it was just his downward spiral or his own poor character.

It was worse that he was lying to the people who mattered most. Perhaps he didn't get along with his parents as much as the average person, but they still mattered to him in some form. He didn't like lying to Combeferre or Courfeyrac, or any of his friends, and yet everything about him seemed manipulative, and he knew it was unsustainable to go on like this.

His mother wasn't a very good mother, but she still tried sometimes. It wasn't her fault she didn't understand. "Well ... As so long as you return as soon as possible. I'm serious, Enjolras. Anytime you need professional help, I'll arrange the appointment myself."

Enjolras let out a relieved breath, closing his eyes. "Yes, thank you."

He hung up before they could get to the awkward moment where a mother usually said 'I love you.' Enjolras ran a hand through his hair, then turned abruptly to head back into the Musain. Unfortunately, he didn't see the person right at the door, and ran straight into them.

Enjolras would have fallen backwards if it wasn't for the death grip currently being placed on his shoulder and the hand steadying him. When he looked up, a pair of worried hazel eyes greeted him, belonging to no other than Grantaire.

Enjolras blinked at him momentarily, his face dubious and uncanny. The silence stretched on, Grantaire's hand still on his shoulder, while the other slid away into a paint stained hoodie pocket.

"Were you — were you eavesdropping?" Enjolras managed out at last.

Grantaire looked down, not meeting his eyes. There was a slight blush on his cheeks. "I, uh. Yeah," He admitted, wincing.

"Ah," Enjolras said, incapable of understanding what he was feeling at the moment. He continued to blink at Grantaire. "All right."

"All right?" Grantaire asked incredulously.

"Yes," Enjolras replied, still blinking. "All right."

"Are you broken?" Grantaire gaped at him, probably expecting the rage, indignation and anger he was usually accustomed to experiencing from Enjolras.

Enjolras gave him an annoyed look. "You were checking on me. I can hardly begrudge you that, when I was the one who _asked_  it of you. I told you to come and find me anytime I did anything suspicious, and you did. Thank you."

"Oh," Grantaire said. "All right. You took a leave of absence?"

"I can't focus on school right now. If you have a problem with it as well — "

"What, no, no. I went to school for _art_ , and I dropped out. I can't really judge," Grantaire laughed, but it sounded strained, and Enjolras wanted to tell him that didn't mean anything, but Grantaire cut him off before he could start. His timing was just too perfect. "Hey, uh. We should talk."

Enjolras did not want to talk. Enjolras wanted to go inside and never have this conversation, pretend he was Grantaire and avoid confrontation at all costs. It was strange that their roles were reversed like this.

Truthfully, Enjolras didn't know how he could possibly explain himself and his actions to Grantaire without invoking offense. Worst yet, he didn't know if he would invoke _hope_ , which would be more awful than anything else he could do. It would be beyond cruel to give Grantaire hope on something Enjolras would never give again, at least not in a clear state of mind.

He wished he knew how to control the impulse better.

"The kiss," Enjolras said, staring. "Right, I'm sorry." He hoped the regret in his tone would be answer enough for Grantaire, and they could happily pretend like it never happened.

Grantaire's expression twisted. "I didn't want an apology. I wanted to talk."

"What is there to say?" Enjolras asked, even though he knew there were _a lot_ of things to say, he just wasn't keen on saying them. (Or hearing them.)

"You have got to be kidding me," Grantaire groaned, sighing. "You know we need to talk about this. Because this — " He paused to gesture between them " — is not going to work out if I need to be watching you. You said you'd tell me everything."

Enjolras closed his eyes, wishing he'd thought better than to make that promise even though he knew Grantaire was right. Grantaire was surprisingly right in a lot of things, but Enjolras refused to ever admit that. He took a deep breath, and though the street was uncrowded because of the new snow, he still dragged Grantaire off to the alley where they'd first talked.

Grantaire was watching him with an imploring look, and he paused before beginning.

"It's impulse. Usually it's just ... It usually just involves the fire, and the urge. I get an intense urge to watch things burn, as I'm sure you're aware. But lately ... Lately it's been other things. I fought with Combeferre. I can't remember the last time I've done that. And — and the kiss. That was impulse," Enjolras said, unable to watch the way those words would surely cause Grantaire's face to crumple. "I'm sorry, Grantaire. It was wrong of me to do this to you."

"Bullshit," Grantaire said, so incredibly blunt that Enjolras couldn't help but look up incredulously. "You can't fucking tell me you accidentally kissed me like that. I've been kissed enough to know when someone means it and when they don't."

Enjolras wrinkled his nose, instantly defensive. He hadn't expected Grantaire to be this clever, but he chastised himself for being so foolish. Grantaire was one of the most clever people he knew. But he hadn't expected Grantaire to be so passionate about this, so straightforward in a way the dark haired man rarely ever was.

Grantaire's eyes were narrowed, gaze intent and angry. Enjolras couldn't remember a time he'd seen Grantaire look like _that_ before.

And for God's sake, why did it make him want to kiss him again?

He didn't mean to say such hurtful things, but that was what happened when he felt cornered. His words were his protection. "Why would I lie about it? Spare your feelings, Grantaire, they're meaningless in this situation. They won't change how I feel about you, which is _nothing_. Don't you dare try and apply those worthless emotions to me."

From this angle, with Enjolras' chin raised high and back straightened in consternation, he could watch from a prime position as Grantaire's entire _being_ recoiled, from his expression to his body. He tripped backwards, boots scuffing in the ground as he tried to steady himself, his hands coming to scrape against the brick wall.

Worst of all were his eyes, the eyes Enjolras appreciated time and time again. The raw hurt he saw there was enough to make Enjolras' resolve crumble, a stab of remorse making his heart sink to his stomach. The shame was overwhelming, and he was all too familiar with how aghast he was with his own actions.

When Grantaire spoke again, it was quiet. "So you didn't want to kiss me?"

It was for Grantaire's own good. Enjolras was a pyromaniac, not so much as going in a downward spiral as a downward _plummet_ , and nothing good could come out of Enjolras amusing both of their emotions. He didn't want to hurt Grantaire like that. He cared about the other man too much to allow this to happen.

One small lie for Grantaire's sake was surely amendable, but why did it hurt so much?

"No, I didn't."

Enjolras turned away so he couldn't possibly be tempted to stare at the hurt on Grantaire's face. Above them, the snow started again, coming down in a light enough flurry that the flakes caught in Enjolras' eyelashes, the white speckling his hair. His voice was gravelly and soft when he spoke, subdued. "Let's go inside."

"Yeah," Grantaire whispered, and this time their friends didn't comment on their appearance as they walked in. Enjolras' gaze was somewhere on the floor, his shoulders unnaturally slumped, and he couldn't even bear to see how Grantaire was faring. He simply sat down at Grantaire's table with him, cleared out while the dark haired man was gone.

They didn't say anything, but Enjolras could feel the stares on his body. It seemed wrong to abandon Grantaire after all of that, but he knew it hurt worse to sit next to him like this, tangible but untouchable.

Jehan was hesitant in walking over, taking a seat next to Grantaire and smiling encouragingly at them both. "Enjolras, do you mind if I talk with Grantaire alone?" He asked politely enough, but it was pointed somehow, and Enjolras knew he would be next anyways.

He turned to Grantaire, giving him a _look_ , but Grantaire wasn't looking. Enjolras stood up, wishing he could somehow fall into Courfeyrac's arms without asking. It turned out he didn't have to ask — when he sat in the booth where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were seated, they made room for him in the middle, his usual spot.

Courfeyrac wordlessly curled Enjolras to his body, and Combeferre hand reached up to rub some of the tension out of Enjolras' back, eventually settling to sift through the curls. Enjolras stared blankly forwards, wishing he could convey how thankful he was somehow.

Joly and Bossuet, sitting opposite of the trio, gave them smiles. Enjolras could feel himself smiling back, if ever so slightly.

It would hurt when he finally found the courage to push them all away.

*****

Enjolras waited for the moment Jehan would ask to speak to him as well, and it wasn't very much longer after he'd just sat down that Jehan was politely asking for his company. Enjolras looked around at the tables, filled with his friends, and he nodded in resignation.

"Outside, please," He said, and Jehan nodded understandingly.

Jehan meant well. His words were kind, but they were also pointed in a way nobody else Enjolras knew could manage. He was polite in reminding Enjolras of his 'mental condition', or his depression, and Grantaire's own questionable mental state.

“I want you two to be happy, I really do. But with how you are at the moment, and Grantaire's own emotional state, I just want to make sure everything's all right,” Jehan said reasonably, but his voice dropped lower as he continued. “But I'm worried.”

Enjolras hated worrying his friends. He knew better than to brush off Jehan's concern, because that would only make it stronger. “I'll be fine, Jehan. I'm not anymore attracted to Grantaire than I was a year ago.”

The lie slipped off his tongue easily, almost like silk. It felt like acid on his tongue, and he grimaced at himself. It seemed like he was truly becoming a compulsive liar as of late, all because he was trying to protect his friends from the cold truth.

Enjolras didn't want to hurt them anymore than necessary. What were a few lies worth if they were for a good cause? Jehan didn't need to worry about him, and Enjolras didn't like it anyways. Mostly because he felt he didn't _deserve_ their worry.

“If you're sure ... I know it's hard right now, but I think you're amazing. The fact that you still try, that you still get out of bed each morning despite it all. A lot of people would give up. But not you. This isn't weakness, Enjolras, it's _human._ ”

He nodded along, pretending like it mattered even slightly to him. After awhile, surrounded by the chaos of everything, it was easy to grow accustomed to it. The words touched a little too close to home, but Enjolras ignored those thoughts.

The wind was perhaps colder than Enjolras would have liked, but he stood over Jehan, who was much shorter than him and only wearing a sweater with a hideous pattern on it.

"You're so protective," Jehan laughed, crooked teeth flashing in an endearingly lopsided smile. "It's just wind."

"And snow. And cold. And I'm hardly protecting you — I am capable of being a considerate friend," Enjolras pursed his lips, sighing. "Jehan, I appreciate the thought, but we're fine. There is nothing between Grantaire and I."

"That's not what Grantaire told me," Jehan said.

Momentarily, the world came crashing down. Enjolras' heart sped up, going impossibly fast, and there was a crushing weight on his chest, as if he couldn't breathe. What had Grantaire told Jehan? Surely the dark haired man wouldn't have told him about the pyromania — would he?

Grantaire _had_ been pretty upset, and just because Enjolras hadn't seen Grantaire actively drinking didn't mean he wasn't. The air suddenly seemed so thin, and the thoughts of _what if_ raced through his mind at an alarming rate. Jehan was staring at Enjolras with confusion, and Enjolras closed his eyes.

His voice was thin and breathless when he spoke. "What did he say?"

Jehan paused uncertainly. "It's all right, Enjolras. I'm not going to tell anybody."

Enjolras stared at Jehan with growing desperation. " _What did he say_?"

"That you two kissed. That's it," Jehan said, staring at Enjolras in confusion. It was unusual for Enjolras to act so caught out and off-guard. "What else did you think he told me?"

Relief. The relief of it all was enough to make Enjolras' knee's week, his hand moving so grab the wall next to him, fingers scraping against the cold brick. He felt slightly guilty for doubting Grantaire, and he knew he really shouldn't feel this relieved — Grantaire still told Jehan about the kissing. It was a minor betrayal, but forgivable nonetheless.

"Nothing. It doesn't — it doesn't matter."

"It seems like it does. Enjolras, you're my friend. I want to help," Jehan said, and Enjolras lowered his eyes.

His jaw worked silently for a moment, before he swallowed and turned away. He'd need to push Jehan away eventually anyways; why not now? "I'll be fine."

Jehan's expression twisted, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Enjolras a strange look. Eventually, Jehan nodded, reaching into his pocket. "If you're sure. I'll always be here to talk, you know that. You're allowed to be down, Enjolras, nobody is going to judge you — "

The rest of the word's were completely lost on Enjolras' ears as Jehan pulled out his pack of cigarettes along with his lighter. Enjolras stared blankly as Jehan pulled out a cigarette, the shape of his hand cupping against the lighters heat to protect it from the wind. The sound of friction and a brief spark were his only warning before Jehan's thumb slid across the trigger.

Light illuminated Jehan's face, casting shadows along the soft curve of his lips, the mascara on his eyes making his eyelashes seem so long, long enough to create a fan of thin shadows on his face. Enjolras' attention stayed transfixed on the flame, though. It flickered pitifully in the wind, but the threat was there, the fragile destruction.

Jehan was staring at him when Enjolras finally could form capable thought, his eyes apologetic and worried. "I'm sorry, did you mind?" He went to remove the cigarette and was sliding the lighter back into his pocket.

The end of the cigarette burned, turning the tobacco and paper into ash right before his eyes. It was beautiful. But Enjolras was more focused on the lighter, his hand reaching out to grasp Jehans hand before he could pocket it. His voice was a rasp when he spoke, rough and hoarse. "Can I — Can I see your lighter?"

Jehan gave him a bewildered look, smiling slightly and putting it into Enjolras' hand. "Sure."

The weight of it seemed so heavy in Enjolras' hand, like the small piece of plastic was made of lead. His hand was shaking slightly, but he ignored it and fumbled with it until his thumb was at the correct spot.

He thought of what Grantaire would do if he found Enjolras like this now. Grantaire would probably swear like he always did and hold Enjolras close. He almost wished for that now, Grantaire holding him close to the warmth of his body, and whispering reassuring words into Enjolras' ears, how it would all be okay ...

Enjolras dropped the lighter before his thumb could trigger the flame into life. Jehan stared at him in utter confusion, and Enjolras was helpless to come up with a reasonable excuse. Though Combeferre had driven him and Courfeyrac there, Enjolras was backing away and making aborted hand movements.

"I have to — I need to go," He said, and turned around sharply into the direction of his shared apartment with Courfeyrac. It wasn't all too far of a walk, but the wind and snow was cold, but Enjolras needed to _go_.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking, only that the wind was picking up and the snow coming down perhaps a bit harder than what he was prepared for.

Enjolras' phone chimed with a text message, one from Grantaire asking if he was okay, and Enjolras quickly texted back to tell everyone he was fine, and that he needed to head home immediately.

Grantaire didn't respond with anything, but Enjolras could imagine his torn expression, the deep lines of worry etched into his face.

*****

Courfeyrac and Combeferre's idea of making Enjolras feel included was the next thing to torture. Apparently, to spend more time together, they'd decided to bring Enjolras in on one of their dates, though Courfeyrac scolded him when he called it that. He amused the thought that it wasn't supposed to be a date, but it was impossible for them to go so long without getting romantic.

They all sat on the couch in Courfeyrac and Enjolras' apartment, watching the one movie about dinosaurs that Enjolras couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, but he wasn't paying attention very much.

He sat in the middle of them for god's sake, and yet they still seemed to act the same way they would have if they'd sat on each other's laps. It seemed they'd unconsciously shifted closer to each other, but the only way to do _that_ was to squish Enjolras between them, and Enjolras was hot and uncomfortable and _crowded_.

The lights were off, and Enjolras felt like a third wheel now more than ever, so when the buzzer sounded he was quick to get up and get the door. He didn't much care who it was, figuring it was one of their friends here to save him from the horribly awkward almost-date with his own friends.

It was probably Jehan. Enjolras was contemplating how he would thank him. Flowers, maybe?

However, when the door knocked and Enjolras swung it open, the only sight it revealed was Grantaire, covered in sweat as if he'd jogged there. The dark haired man had bags under his eyes, his face torn into an expression of pain, and Enjolras was momentarily blind sided with worry. Was Grantaire hurt? Why would he come here when Courfeyrac and Combeferre were —

"Fuck it, I can't do this. I can't — "

And then Grantaire was surging forwards, wrapping his arms around Enjolras' neck and pressing their lips together. Enjolras made a surprised noise into the kiss, bearing Grantaire's weight, and Grantaire pressed his advantage and suddenly his tongue was sliding into the kiss.

There was absolutely no finesse to it all, most of it having do to Enjolras barely having the capacity to comprehend what was going on, the other his own lack of experience. Their teeth hit more than a few times, and Grantaire turned his face to adjust the angle and kiss Enjolras deeper now that their noses wouldn't bump.

Hands slid up into Enjolras' hair, and fuck, Grantaire knew his weakness — Enjolras melted into the kiss instantly, body curling to Grantaire's as the dark haired man made a mess of his curls.

" _Oh my god_ ," Courfeyrac squeaked from the couch, flailing at Combeferre blindly as if to get his attention, like Combeferre wouldn't have _noticed_.

Grantaire shot back like Enjolras had burned him, head jerking to Courfeyrac's direction. His eyes widened almost comically, mouth gaping open. Dazedly, Enjolras couldn't help but notice the way his lips were still slick with spit.

"Fuck," Grantaire said passionately.

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose as he saw Combeferre calmly take off his glasses. To the average person, it would seem like a normal enough move, but only those close enough to Combeferre would know what was just about to happen.

"Enjolras," Combeferre began patiently. "I thought you said there was nothing between you and Grantaire?"

"There isn't," Enjolras hastened to explain. "I, ah."

It didn't make very much sense to lie. It was obvious that while Enjolras hadn't exactly kissed back, he did let it happen, and it wasn't like he could lie and say Grantaire was giving up and finally breaking after a couple of years of hopeless pining. In fact, Enjolras had been the one who broke first, and he had been without the pining.

Courfeyrac was staring at them both in sympathy, wincing a bit. "Maybe explain?"

It was, of course, perfectly reasonable for Combeferre and Courfeyrac to be a little angry. He'd adamantly refused the idea that he and Grantaire were even slightly romantically involved multiple times, and each time had been, at least to them, another lie.

Meanwhile, Grantaire had his face in his hands, looking for all the world like he wished the floor would swallow him up. Enjolras related to that. But Grantaire was talking, words mumbled through his hands. "Fuck. There isn't — when we were at the meeting, and we went outside and then I came back in all depressed and stuff. That was him rejecting me."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "You kissed him, just now, after he rejected you?"

"Grantaire, what?" Courfeyrac asked, surprised and put off.

Enjolras was speaking for Grantaire before he knew what he was doing, passionate. "I kissed him first." God, this was a mess. At Combeferre's flat look, Enjolras hurried to continue. "That day when I went missing. I was at Grantaire's. You called me, Courfeyrac, if you remember. And I said I have to go, and that I'd explain everything later. I ... ah, I did kiss him then."

It was quiet for a moment, Courfeyrac oddly silent for once, where nobody bothered to speak. Nobody brave enough to break the silence. Except for Grantaire, apparently. Enjolras couldn't help but notice the other man was shaking slightly, and he wanted nothing more than to assure Grantaire he was annoyed, yes, but not truly angry.

Of all the people to get caught by, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were the best when it came to understanding.

"Fuck, okay. I'm going to go, uh, I'm sorry?" Grantaire said, turning to Enjolras with a truly remorseful expression.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "No, you're not going anywhere. Do you know where my bedroom is? Go in there, I'll explain everything to them," He said, wondering why he was being so kind. Grantaire obviously very much didn't want to be in a room with Combeferre or Courfeyrac right now out of fear, and Enjolras knew Grantaire would tear himself apart with guilt if he went off on his own, so it seemed like the best decision.

"What?" Grantaire asked, confused and still shaking like a ball of energy.

"Now, Grantaire," Enjolras said, his voice giving no room for argument. Grantaire nodded dumbly, heading off into the room that was Enjolras' and shutting the door to probably freak out in privacy. Enjolras took a deep breath, turning back to Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

It was strange, they were both staring at him in amusement.

"What?" Enjolras asked.

"Nothing," Courfeyrac said, smiling a bit to himself. "You know, I don't think this conversation is going anywhere, but I'm pretty sure I can hear Grantaire trying to climb out of your window."

Enjolras stared at them, Combeferre putting on his glasses with his lips curved up ever so slightly. Realization dawned on him. They were providing him an opportunity to escape, and Enjolras certainly wasn't going to let it go to waste. He nodded jerkily, hastening towards his bedroom door and opening it.

Grantaire wasn't trying to climb out of the window, thankfully, but he was sitting on Enjolras bed like he was afraid it would jump out at him anytime. His fingers were curled lightly in the sheets, but when he saw Enjolras he abruptly stood up.

Enjolras motioned for him to remain seated, and he pulled over his desk chair to sit in. He didn't really want to have this conversation either, but at least this way required a lot less explaining.

"I fucked up. I know it, shit. Fucking hell, fuck," Grantaire said eloquently. Enjolras wondered how many times he said the word 'fuck' each day. It was probably a lot.

"It doesn't matter now," Enjolras sighed, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. "They won't tell."

"Yeah, but now three people know. And you know Courf can't keep a secret."

That was true. Courfeyrac was the worst when it came to keeping secrets, except for Marius of course, but he truly did mean well. It probably had to do with the fact that Courfeyrac was such an open person, someone who really didn't have very many secrets to hide. And if he did, Enjolras would know of course.

"As so long as they don't know about the _other_ thing, I really don't mind. In fact, this is preferable to that," Enjolras said.

"But — " Enjolras sighed. Grantaire continued on. "But they're going to think we're dating."

"I'm aware."

"You're ... not freaking out?"

"I'm very annoyed with you. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrows.

Grantaire crossed his arms, looking put off. "Not really."

Enjolras studied Grantaire more closely. The sweat that had made his inky curls cling to his forehead was now just a clammy sheen on his skin that was almost impercebtle if you didn't weren't looking. His eyes looked more lively, but still had the bags that Enjolras wished would go away with a good night's sleep, though he knew Grantaire rarely slept.

Enjolras frowned, turning his eyes away. "We can't be anything, Grantaire. You know why. I'm not good for you, you're not good for me. It will only end in disaster on both parts, and I'd rather not lose the only person who's given me hope for the future in the past couple weeks."

The feeling of those witty, clever eyes on him was unnerving, but Enjolras didn't bother to look. Instead, he stared out towards the window of his bedroom, where snow was making a cover on all of the city below. It frosted up the glass, but the sight was welcoming enough, better when it meant that he didn't have to look at Grantaire.

He didn't want to see Grantaire's expression to those words.

For awhile, it was silent. Grantaire voice was raspy when he spoke, hollow. "Can I smoke?"

Enjolras nodded. He walked over to his window, opening it and welcoming the cool winter air into his bedroom, where the air was thick with words and emotions. The air was cutting, and the goosebumps on his arms were almost comforting in a strange way.

Grantaire followed over, both of them sitting on the small little seat just in front of his window. It was Enjolras' favorite spot, a place to sit and watch the city outside. It was small, and they were pressed close together. When Grantaire lit his lighter, he was courteous in covering everything with his body.

Still, Enjolras closed his eyes and cupped his ears, waiting until Grantaire nudged him.

They stared out at the city below, the smoke swirling into the darkness of the night. Enjorlas watched Grantaire's profile, the small burning at the end of his cigarette catching his attention, but not in a dangerous way.

Grantaire was beautiful. Maybe not traditionally so, but there was something aesthetically pleasing about his general appearance that comforted Enjolras, the heat of his body familiar by this point.

Enjolras turned his attention back out to the city, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and soft in a way it so rarely was.

"I don't think I could stand to leave you in pieces anymore than I already am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go. Sorry that chapter took so long, haha, but I hope everyone likes it. Like always, please give me any feedback, it's literally 90% of my inspiration!


	5. Chapter 5

The ensuing silence was almost unbearable after Enjolras spoke those words. Grantaire seemed unnaturally subdued, even for him, the smoke from his cigarette clouding the air around them despite the window being open. It almost fogged Enjolras' mind, but not enough to put out of mind something that was still bothering him for awhile.

"Before, you said you had something to show me," Enjolras said, voice soft and hoarse in a way he rarely let it. He didn't like to show pain. "The day I told you I wanted to — to pull away from everyone. You never showed me anything."

Grantaire froze, the only movement being the steadily growing ash at the end of his cigarette. Eventually he flicked the ash out the window, but he wouldn't meet Enjolras' eyes. "It doesn't matter. It was dumb."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, giving Grantaire a skeptical look. "I want to know."

Seemingly embarrassed, Grantaire wouldn't meet Enjolras' eyes. "It's really kind of, uh. You wouldn't like it."

"Would you just tell me what it is?"

"A painting," Grantaire blurted, flushing and keeping his eyes on his burning cigarette. "I, uh. I painted you something. I told you it's dumb."

Enjolras stared at him in confusion, trying to comprehend what Grantaire meant. Had the dark haired man really painted him something? And why would he? Giving him a bewildered look, Enjolras couldn't help but succumb to his own curiosity. "What did you paint me?"

For an unnecessarily long amount of time, Grantaire took a long drag of his cigarette like he could possibly procrastinate answering. A part of Enjolras felt endeared, while the other part felt vaguely annoyed. It seemed to be a typical reaction to being around Grantaire.

Eventually, Grantaire spoke. "It's, uh. Just a stupid thing. I could show you tomorrow if you really want to see it?"

Enjolras nodded. It was worrying, but he liked spending time around Grantaire more and more each day. And before he realized what he was saying, words were spilling out of his mouth. "I'd — I'd like that. We could meet up for coffee, too?"

The look Grantaire gave Enjolras was completely baffled, like Enjolras had grown two heads or something equally silly. "Coffee?"

Enjolras pursed his lips, feeling foolish and going defensive. "If you don't want to, you could just say — "

"No, dude. I want to. Seriously, in what world would I refuse spending time with you?" Grantaire asked, still staring at Enjolras in complete confusion

Enjolras hated the way the words caused him to blush, and he was thankful for the relative dimness of his room. It was easy to hide the way his face turned red, but his heart still raced, and a pleasant thrill went through him.

"Are you going home?" He asked suddenly, needing to change the topic.

Grantaire laughed. "Want to get rid of me that bad?"

"No, it's getting late. I could walk you home," Enjolras said, knowing he was being foolish. Grantaire could manage his way home on his own just fine, but a part of Enjolras still wanted to ensure he got to his apartment safely. What was this he was feeling? Protectiveness?

"You don't have to," Grantaire protested.

"I want to."

"No, seriously. I'm fine. When did you start worrying this much?" Grantaire asked, a small grin on his face.

Enjolras huffed, turning away and refusing to acknowledge that. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll text you a place and time," Grantaire said, and then he was gone. He briefly wondered if he should follow him out and protect him from Coureyrac and Combeferre's questions, but he trusted his friends not to intrude.

Enjolras hated the way he kind of wished Grantaire would stay. 

*****

Grantaire looked frustratingly attractive in his seat, nervously fiddling with his beanie and playing with the lid on his coffee. Despite the cold weather, he sat outside the coffee shop in one of the black tables, only a scarce few people braving the cold temperatures with him. He looked like he shaved for the occasion, but even from a distance Enjolras could see the beginnings of Grantaire's stubble coming in.

More interesting than that was the other coffee on the opposite side of the table from him. Enjolras walked over, adjusting his scarf so that he could talk without mumbling his words. The sound of a chair scraping against the concrete seemed to startle Grantaire, who looked up like he was _surprised_ Enjolras showed up.

Enjolras knew he wasn't late — he was, in fact, five minutes early. And Grantaire had already bought them both coffee. Enjolras hadn't known Grantaire was capable of not being late, but showing up to something as early as this was truly a spectacle. Despite all of this, Enjolras offered him a rare smile.

"Did you buy me a coffee?"

As per his usual nervous habit, Grantaire played with his beanie. "Uh, yeah. Just plain black with like, two shots in it. My treat?"

Enjolras' lips quirked, and Grantaire looked vaguely taken aback. "Thank you. You knew what I like?"

"Courfeyrac must have, uh, mentioned it at some point," Grantaire stammered out, looking embarrassed. It was honestly very endearing, and Enjolras couldn't find it in himself to be disturbed at that thought.

"Ah," Enjolras said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. "I see."

He took a sip of the coffee, unbothered by the scalding hot temperature. The little coffee shop had been Grantaire's recommendation, and Enjolras knew from his friends that Grantaire knew all of the best places in the city.

Grantaire himself seemed like a walking archive of random knowledge. Knowledge that perhaps wasn't strictly useful or necessary, but interesting nonetheless. With all of the trivia and facts he knew, Grantaire could easily pass as one of the smartest people in a room.

"So, uh ... " Grantaire began after a silence, and Enjolras removed himself from his thoughts, looking up. "Why did you want to go for coffee?"

Enjolras watched Grantaire twiddle his thumbs and keep his eyes carefully away from Enjolras'. Thinking about it for a second, Enjolras pursed his lips. "I thought it would be nice. With everything that's happened in the past couple of weeks, it seemed like we've never held an actual conversation with talking about ... well, you know."

"It's not like we've ever had a conversation before that," Grantaire murmured, staring at his thumbs but wincing at himself. "Forget I said that."

Enjolras paused to mull it over. "No, I suppose you're right."

"It's really not — not that big of a deal," Grantaire said, embarrassed.

"Have I really put you off _that_ much?" Enjolras stared incredulously. "I've been hostile to you since the day we first met. I don't think I could have been more wrong about you."

Grantaire made a noise like a child being embarrassed by their parent, pulling his hat down to cover his eyes. "Seriously, what did they put in that coffee? Should I call an ambulance?"

"If anything, it would be truth serum," Enjolras sighed, sitting forwards. "I'm trying to apologize, Grantaire. Would you let me?"

"R," Grantaire said, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What?"

"R," He repeated, looking at Enjolras. "That's what my friend's call me. People only call me Grantaire when they're mad at me."

Enjolras frowned. "I don't like that nickname."

"It's a pun — "

"I know," Enjolras said. "But I'd like to call you Grantaire, if you don't mind."

"So you can seem perpetually mad at me?" Grantaire asked, raising his eyebrows.

"So we're equals," Enjolras replied easily.

Grantaire actually flushed, hurriedly looking away. "I've called you Enj before."

Enjolras had quite too many memories of Grantaire calling him Enj. Usually, it was to calm him down after he did something horrible. But there was a vague, faint feeling of comfort at just remembering those times, and how Grantaire had been there.

"Not ... usually. Only on those, ah, _special_ occasions," Enjolras began awkwardly, cutting himself off before he could go on.

Grantaire blinked, as if realizing what Enjolras was getting at. "Oh. Uh, you know. You're kind of right. You can call me Grantaire if you want."

"Thank you," Enjolras said, smiling.

Grantaire just stared at him, the silence after that surprisingly not uncomfortable. It was almost nice, sitting with Grantaire like this and occasionally taking a sip of his coffee. However, he noticed Grantaire's body shivered every time a gust of wind blew by, the cold winter air relentless even when it was above thirty degrees out.

It had snowed before, but the weather was as unpredictable as ever. The snow had melted now, making the city seem grey and dull once more.

"Are you cold?" Enjolras frowned, perfectly comfortable in his all of his own layers. However, Grantaire was just wearing a jacket marred with a couple of paint stains. He wasn't even wearing gloves.

"No, I'm fine."

"Would you like my scarf?" Enjolras asked, already going to remove it. It was his favorite — warm, and a deep maroon color that he loved. It was a gift from Combeferre two years ago, and he still wore it every winter when he was going out in the cold for long periods of time.

Grantaire looked briefly panicked. "What? No, it's just wind — "

Enjolras scoffed, sitting up over the table and ignoring Grantaire's protests as he wrapped it around his neck, the fabric just coming up to cover his mouth. It was warm from Enjolras' own body heat, and he felt better now that Grantaire was more comfortable.

When he sat back down, Grantaire was utterly frozen. Enjolras gave him a worried stare. "Better?"

Grantaire's fingers, rough and calloused from who knew what, went to feel along the edge of the fabric. He lifted it up so that he could stare at the color, and eventually a small grin came onto his face. "Bet it doesn't look as good on me as it does on you."

Oddly enough, they _both_ blushed at those words, Enjolras pursing his lips in annoyance at himself. Grantaire looked vaguely embarrassed by his own words, which shouldn't have been as endearing as it was.

"You'd be surprised," Enjolras retaliated, feeling challenged.

Grantaire actually laughed, the loud laughter he usually shared with his friends. It was relieving to hear, something that warmed Enjolras and made that feeling in his stomach fizzle over happily. He usually tried to ignore it, but now he welcomed it. "Okay, you win."

Enjolras couldn't help it — he laughed too, a quiet and low sound that usually only his closest friends heard. Grantaire stared at him wide eyed for a moment, but soon he joined in too.

The best part was the feeling of lightness in Enjolras' chest. For weeks it felt like there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, pulling him down into a dull and lifeless mood that was so unusual for him. This was too, but it didn't feel wrong. It felt so relieving, laughing with Grantaire like this.

He was still smiling at Grantaire, and the dark haired man stared at Enjolras in absolute rapture. Like Enjolras was the most bright and brilliant thing he'd ever seen, even in the gloomy shade the clouds above created.

Enjolras really didn't know how to feel about that, so he diverted back to why they were meeting in the first place. "Do you want to head over to your apartment now?"

Grantaire nervously took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the scalding temperature. Not all people could be as immune to hot coffee as Enjolras. "I mean, uh. If you'd like?"

The hesitation in Grantaire's voice was enough to grab Enjolras' attention "Do you not want me to see the painting?"

Enjolras watched Grantaire shift uncomfortably in his seat. "It's not that."

"Grantaire," Enjolras said, prompting him.

Sighing, Grantaire wouldn't meet Enjolras' eyes as he began to talk. "I should probably tell you the painting is kind of ... Like, extreme? I spent like, forever working on it, but I only realized halfway through just how, uh, weird it is."

"Why would it be weird?" Enjolras asked, confused.

"I don't know, it's a painting of you, so ... "

"So?"

"So there's no way I wouldn't make it weird somehow," Grantaire said, in a rush.

It took a moment to process those words. Not just because Grantaire had said them so fast, but because he couldn't decipher what Grantaire was getting at. The final realization it had to do with Grantaire's attraction to him startled Enjolras, much more than he should have expected. It was Grantaire — what had he expected?

But Enjolras refused to be deterred. Grantaire had obviously worked very hard on something for him, and it would be ungrateful to Grantaire to just be so easily convinced. so he leaned forwards and gave Grantaire a steely look. "I want to see it," Enjolras said, forcefully. He paused before adding, "If you'd let me."

Grantaire laughed a little helplessly. "God, you're so — "

"It's artwork, Grantaire. And any work from you would be very much appreciated. I've seen you sketching in the Musain sometimes," Enjolras said, thinking back to all the times he'd seen Grantaire with a pencil and sketchbook during their meetings. At the time, he would sigh and be annoyed, but now he wished he'd paid more attention. "You're amazing with a pencil."

His new interest in Grantaire and his art was unexpected, but after a moment of internal conflict, Enjolras decided it wasn't entirely unwelcome. What was the worst that could come of it?

Meanwhile, Grantaire was fiddling with his hat in that annoyingly endearing habit, but he startled Enjolras when he abruptly stood up. "Right, okay, yeah. Let's go, before I really do chicken out."

Grantaire threw away his coffee, apparently done with it, but Enjolras curled his close to his body and tried to retain it's heat. Without his scarf, he was suddenly aware of the cold temperature, but he would never allow himself to make Grantaire the uncomfortable one, so he ignored it.

"Have you ever been to the art museum?" Grantaire asked suddenly, just as soon as they began walking together. It wasn't overly crowded out, due to the cold, and that was exactly how Enjolras preferred.

"The one downtown?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so. Maybe as a field trip in school, but I'm sure that doesn't count," Enjolras frowned, trying to remember. "I can't say I have."

"Really?" Grantaire asked incredulously, staring at Enjolras as if he were an alien. "Never?"

"Never," Enjolras replied, casting a glance towards Grantaire.

They walked in silence for a moment, their shoes scuffing against the sidewalk being the only sound in the quiet street. When Grantaire spoke again, his voice was uncertain, wary. " ... Would you like to go?"

"Now?" Enjolras asked, confused.

"No, I mean, like. Sometime," Grantaire hastened to explain, but looked chagrined when Enjolras only stared at him. "Right, yeah, sorry. That was dumb, of course you have better things to do than — "

"No, I'd like to," Enjolras cut him off, effectively silencing Grantaire. "I couldn't imagine someone better to go to an art museum with than you. Courfeyrac's been bugging me about going with him and Combeferre."

The mere thought caused Enjolras to shiver, still remembering the nightmare experience from before.

Grantaire laughed, patting him on the back. "They're just trying to include you."

"I'm fine with that, but going on _dates_ with them — "

"But going on a date with me is fine?" Grantaire laughed, but the sound died off soon enough. The ensuing silence this time was uncomfortable, Enjolras hardly daring to breathe as he processed those words.

Had he really just agreed to go on a date with Grantaire so thoughtlessly? Had it really been _that_ easy? Not only that, but Enjolras was actually looking forwards to spending some time with Grantaire outside of their arrangement. He wanted to look at exhibits while Grantaire explained what he thought about them, wanted to stand close to Grantaire as they read the information passages together.

Grantaire was rubbing a palm into his eye, sighing tiredly. "It obviously doesn't have to be — "

"Friends," Enjolras said sternly. "That's what were are, Grantaire."

"Oh, sorry for misinterpreting the _mixed signals,_ " Grantaire mocked bitterly.

That tone of voice usually caused Enjolras to go defensive, make him say the rude and horrible things he normally said. The words that he was always ashamed of the moment they came out of his mouth. But when Enjolras spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle. "It can't be anything else. You know why."

Grantaire snorted. "I'm not made of fucking glass."

Personally, Enjolras couldn't disagree more. More than anybody else he'd met, Enjolras saw Grantaire as something fragile and priceless. Something that would break and crack but never fall apart, but Enjolras refused to take advantage of that.

It wouldn't work. No matter how much Enjolras wanted it himself, he knew it would never be able to happen. He could never let himself selfishly have Grantaire, only to leave him in pieces after Enjolras finally became too unstable for the outside world. He didn't want to hurt him like that.

More than anything, Enjolras wanted to _protect_ Grantaire.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras said.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras with a growing mix of frustration and desperation. Eventually, his expression cleared off, became cold and stony in the way Grantaire thought was closed off. But Enjolras knew him too well now, and he saw right through it. Grantaire was shaking.

"Come on, we're almost to my place," Grantaire said distantly, and even though Enjolras wanted to make his point more exact, he dropped it and followed him anyways.

Grantaire's place was exactly has Enjolras remembered it, untidy but resembling Grantaire's style nonetheless. Enjolras watched as Grantaire toed off his unlaced boots at the entrance to his apartment, and Enjolras was stricken as he remembered all the times he'd walked in without doing so. He must have seemed so rude.

Enjolras unlaced his sneakers, Grantaire giving him a peculiar expression. "You don't have to do that."

"Wouldn't it be rude not to?"

"It doesn't really matter, it's not like you're going to stay for awhile," Grantaire shrugged, moving towards his bedroom. Enjolras followed, still being mindful enough to leave his shoes at the entrance of Grantaire's apartment.

The door was closed, and just as Grantaire was turning the knob, he paused and turned to Enjolras. His shoulders were drawn up tight, and he was resolutely staring at the wall behind Enjolras. "Look, like, just warning you again ... "

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Just show me already."

Grantaire nodded mutely, opening the door to his room.

His room was, in shorter terms, an absolute mess. There seemed to be paint splattered on almost every wall, his desk was covered in paper and other various art supplies, and even his bed had a couple of unused canvases on it, simply out of lack of room to put them anywhere. The floor was covered with clothes, empty boxes for various different things, and on every available space of wall there was some poster or another.

However, what really caught Enjolras' attention was the easel in the middle of the room, where a painting was currently residing.

What immediately caught Enjolras' eyes were the swirling colors of red, orange and yellow, almost reminding him of the fire, but it was different somehow. He realized it was sun.

The painting itself was horizontal, the background almost completely engulfed by Grantaire's painting of the sun. But in front of it was a man, face shadows thrown into sharp relief from the light behind him. Everything about the man's face was painstakingly detailed, blond curls tossing in the wind and almost blending with the sun behind.

The man in the painting was obviously Enjolras.

Enjolras didn't realize he was walking forwards until he was literally in front of the painting, eyes taking in every detail rapturously and with great pleasure. It was one of the most fantastic things he'd ever seen, only made better by the knowledge that it was _Grantaire_ who had done it.

His voice was dry when he spoke. "Grantaire, this is — "

But the words wouldn't come. He was utterly speechless, and no word seemed to be able to capture the raw emotion Enjolras felt right then.

"I know — I know, it's so fucking creepy. I literally spent a week painting you — "

"Breathtaking," Enjolras finished, eyes never leaving the painting. "I've never seen something so magnificent."

When Enjolras finally looked over, he saw Grantaire watching him with a longing look in his eyes. No ... this was something more vulnerable. The urge to kiss him in that moment was overwhelming, and Enjolras wanted nothing more than to give in and hold Grantaire close.

He fought against the urge like he always did. It was all the same in the end, the desire to do something despite the consequences.

Enjolras gave Grantaire his most honest look, trying to convey just how appreciative he was of this.

Eventually Grantaire spoke, his words soft and subdued. "You don't hate it?"

"No," Enjolras said firmly, moving forwards so that he could grasp Grantaire's hands in his. He didn't look away from Grantaire's eyes for a single second. And despite his better judgement, he was closing his eyes and bringing one of Grantaire's knuckles up to press a chaste kiss to. He heard Grantaire's sharp intake of breath, and Enjolras looked up.  
_"You're amazing_ , Grantaire. I love it."

"Am I dreaming?" Grantaire asked softly.

Enjolras laughed despite it all, feeling unbearably fond. "Do you want me to pinch you?"

"Trust me, out of all the things I want you to do to me right now, pinching is at the very bottom of the list," Grantaire said, laughing helplessly.

Enjolras couldn't find it in himself to push Grantaire away, give them both the space they needed to clear their heads. Instead, he found himself asking, "What's at the top?"

The way Grantaire's eyes travelled down to Enjolras' lips was answer enough. Grantaire's own lips were invitingly parted, wet and shining in the dim light of his bedroom. Enjolras felt like he would give anything in that moment to kiss Grantaire.

But it wasn't long until he was moving back, holding Grantaire at arm's length. If he really cared about the dark haired man, he wouldn't do this to him. He _couldn't_ do this to him. "We can't," Enjolras murmured, shoulder's slumped, defeated. "We can't be anything."

"For God's sake, _why_?" Grantaire breathed.

"You know why," Enjolras said, looking away. "I should go."

For a moment, a part of Enjolras battled with him to stay, to hold Grantaire close and let them both be comforted by it. But he knew better. He couldn't.

Enjolras was just moving around him when Grantaire grabbed his forearm, similar to the night when they'd first kissed. "The painting," Grantaire managed. "Take it. It's yours."

Eye's widening, Enjolras stared at him, dismayed. "I couldn't possibly — "

"It was supposed to be a gift. And you like it," Grantaire paused, unable to meet Enjolras' eyes. "Please?"

Enjolras found himself nodding despite everything. "Of course. I don't know how I'll get it back to my apartment, though."

Grantaire shook his head, walking over to his closet and pulling out a ragged looking messenger bag. "This should fit most of it," He said, walking over to the painting and putting it in very carefully. "Just give the bag back whenever."

"I will," Enjolras said, and left before he could do anything he'd regret.

*****

Enjolras bathed in flames that night. His dreams were fickle and changing, but they all had the same theme — the fire surrounding him and causing him to toss and turn. This time, he dreamed that the sun was a ball of flame, tangible and touchable.

The sky opened up and it rained fire, too. Everything about it was beautiful, breathtaking, and Enjolras watched all of this from the top of some tall building. When he looked down on the city below, it was completely bathed in flames.

With no warning, Enjolras jumped into the flames below.

Enjolras' eyes shot open, scrambling up in his bed before he realized he was safe in his room, and there was no fire in his sight.

A part of him was almost sick on the spot, and he had to bite back the bile just at the feeling of the itch. It had never felt like this before, so truly unbearable that he felt sick with it. He crawled shakily to the bathroom, and couldn't help but vomit into the toilet, horrible retching sounds echoing in the apartment. He silently hoped Courfeyrac wasn't there.

However, he heard the sound of steps at the door way, and Courfeyrac's soothing hands were running through his curls and pulling them back as another wave of sickness took over Enjolras. "Do you want me to call Ferre or Joly?" He asked, voice gentle.

"No," Enjolras managed out, knowing it wasn't anything serious. More than anything, he knew he had to push Courfeyrac away. It couldn't be like this anymore — the urge he was feeling right now just heightened his point.

Courfeyrac felt his forehead anyways, sighing in relief when it was clammy and cool. "Was it something you ate?"

Enjolras closed his eyes. He hadn't eaten anything in at least twenty four hours. He hated lying. "Yes, must be."

"I'm calling Ferre," Courfeyrac said, moving to grab his phone.

Enjolras made a noise, feeling sick and dizzy but grabbing Courfeyrac's arm nonetheless. "No, don't," He tried to stare imploringly at Courfeyrac, willing him to understand. When the brunet only stared at Enjolras with concern and confusion, Enjolras tore his gaze away and stared at the wall. "It's ... It's one of those days. I'd rather just be alone. Nobody can help."

"Oh, Enj," Courfeyrac murmured, holding Enjolras close for a moment. It was warm and would normally be comforting, but Enjolras was more distracted by the itch in his skin, making his mind foggy. "I'll make you tea. Do you want me ... to go to Combeferre's?"

Enjolras heard the strain in his friends voice, and knew how much it killed Courfeyrac to say those words. He sounded hurt, and Enjolras wanted to apologize for being so awful. Instead, he nodded, glad that he didn't have to ask. "Yes, that would be — that would be best."

Courfeyrac nodded, helping Enjolras up and watching as Enjolras brushed his teeth, pausing to use mouthwash twice. When the taste of bile was successfully out of his mouth, Enjolras forced himself to go back to his bed, trying to ignore the worst of it.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but eventually Courfeyrac reappeared with a cup of tea and a silly little note with doodles and hearts, and hastily scribbled words, 'I love you, you dork'.

When he heard the apartment door shut, Enjolras curled in on himself and tried to fight back the guilt he was feeling. He tried to fight back the urge to get up out of bed, to try and do something productive.

Enjolras hesitantly sat up, and his eyes landed on the painting Grantaire gave him.

Sometimes he did terrible things.

He didn't know where he got the match from. He didn't know when he got up, when he was staring at the fire spreading across the canvas in shock. The sunlight was bathed in flames, the flames licking across the roughened paper, consuming the painted version of Enjolras like he'd always dreamed of.

It was gorgeous like this, the image forever imprinted into his mind. Everything melted together in the heat of the flames, burning so brightly that Enjolras was captivated. There was no sense of time like this, no sense of feeling or emotion, just him staring transfixed as the flames swallowed Grantaire's hardest work.

It left burned and charred remains behind it, and Enjolras gasped in despair, too distracted to notice the way the flames traveled up to his hands. The fire reached up, burning his wrist and causing such immense pain that Enjolras jumped back instinctively, gasping.

He ran to the bathroom, grabbing a bucket and filling it as quickly as he could. But when he got back, the flames had already been smothered from landing on the fire side. Despite this, Enjolras still dumped the bucket on the painting, his motions jerky and automatic.

Kneeling down, and hands shaking so much he could barely form them into movement, he lifted the canvas to the painting side. He dropped it almost immediately, falling back as despair washed over him.

The anguish caused his breathing to stutter, and he curled his wrist close to his body as the sobs came. He was so ashamed and disgusted with what he did that he could only pathetically curl into himself and try to bite back the worst of it. God, what had he done?

He was shaking so bad he almost couldn't stand, but he made it to the bathroom in the end to vomit into the toilet once more. His wrist was in such immense pain that he couldn't bring himself to look, couldn't bear the thought of seeing the burned and reddened skin.

Enjolras knew he deserved it after what he'd done.

He leaned against the tiled wall, resting his head back and staring at the ceiling, still shaking. In the momentary lapse of despair, Enjolras almost couldn't feel the urge, and he knew he was no longer in danger of doing anything awful. Still, he was unable to look at his burn, unable to bear the thought that it could have been _someone else_ feeling it instead.

Enjolras didn't know how long he sat like that, silently quaking in the bathroom with his wrist hurting seemingly more and more by the second. But then his phone was ringing in his pocket, startling him so much he almost jerked the burn into the fabric of his shirt. He didn't have any doubts about who it could be, and he answered before he could miserably refuse to.

He didn't say anything, just heard Grantaire's steady breathing on the other line and was comforted by it. Eventually, Grantaire spoke. " ... Enjolras?" He ventured, confused.

Grantaire's voice caused Enjolras to make a noise, curling into himself.

"Enjolras? What's wrong?" This time, Grantaire's voice had so much concern in it, shaking slightly.

"G-Grantaire — I — " Enjolras tried to say, but no words would come.

"Is it — Did you — " Grantaire began, his breath short and quick. "Where are you?"

"My apartment," Enjolras managed out, closing his eyes and wishing Grantaire wouldn't come. He didn't deserve his kindness, not after what he'd done. "I — I burnt myself."

It was utterly silent for a moment, the only sound being the racing of Enjolras' own heart in his ears, and the static the urge caused in the background. When Grantaire spoke this time, it was like he could barely dare to ask. "Oh God — is it bad? Jesus, fuck."

For Grantaire, Enjolras braved a look at the burn. It was red, that was for sure, but it was only on his wrist. The skin looked strangely wet, and just looking at it caused it to throb painfully. Enjolras closed his eyes. It didn't look like anything particularly dangerous, but hurt nonetheless. "N-No."

"Please tell me you're not lying," Grantaire pleaded.

"It hurts, but — will you come over?" Enjolras asked, voice shaking and hardly daring to breathe as he waited for Grantaire's answers.

Grantaire gave a disbelieving laugh. "Will I come over? I'm already out of my apartment."

Though Enjolras didn't answer, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and slumped back against the wall. Grantaire would take care of him. He always did. Enjolras could hear Grantaire moving faintly on the line, but still didn't trust himself to speak without his voice shaking.

Grantaire was the one to break the silence. "Is it — is it the urge?"

Enjolras swallowed. "Yes."

"Fuck. You should have called me."

Closing his eyes, Enjolras dragged his gaze from the ceiling to the burn on his wrist. The skin was red and inflamed, painful just to _look_ at, but he knew he deserved it. With what he'd done, he didn't even think he deserved the worry Grantaire was awarding him with now.

But on some level, he knew Grantaire was right. He should have called as soon as he felt the urge, and perhaps then this entire situation could have been avoided. But his pride would never allow for that — he'd managed it alone thus far, why was it so different now?

"The painting," Enjolras said, as if that explained everything.

There was a hesitation to Grantaire's voice, a slight edge. "What about it?"

Feeling disappointed and ashamed, Enjolras barely resisted the urge to hang up. "I set it on fire. I watched it burn, I was so horrified, you have to believe me. It was beautiful at first but — I ruined it — "

Grantaire's voice had the necessary amount of both harsh and soft to soothe Enjolras. "God, fuck. It's a painting, Enj, I'll paint you another — I'll paint you a million if you want. Don't do this to yourself, just try and stay calm until I get there, yeah?"

Never could Enjolras have expected Grantaire to be this forgiving, this understanding. But Enjolras still hated himself for what he did, and no amount of Grantaire's comforting words could change that.

It wasn't long after that that Grantaire came in, and Enjolras briefly wondered which neighbor had buzzed him in, but that didn't matter. He wished he'd had the energy to get up and let the other man in himself, but he could barely stand without the waves of nausea taking over.

When Enjolras heard the gasped breath in the doorway of the bathroom, he didn't bother looking, just kept his eyes resolutely fixed on nothing. Grantaire was dropping down beside him, gingerly pulling out Enjolras' arm from where it was held close to his body.

Enjolras couldn't help but watch Grantaire's face as it melted from fear and worry to a less intense expression, maybe relief. However, his lips were still pulled tight as he examined the burn, like the thought of Enjolras in pain was absolutely unbearable.

"It's not that bad, uh. I mean, I'm no burn expert," Grantaire said, mostly to himself. "Were you sick earlier?"

Enjolras couldn't meet his eyes. "I woke up with the urge. It was ... it made me sick."

"Where's Courf?" Grantaire asked, looking around warily.

"Ferre's. I told him to leave," Enjolras hated the way his voice was small. "I ruined the painting."

"Is _that_ why you didn't call me? Because you felt bad about a painting? Christ, fuck," Grantaire breathed, scrubbing a hand down his face. Enjolras didn't say anything, just watched as Grantaire reached into the bag he'd brought and pulled out some ointment and bandages. "Do you want to run it under some cold water?"

"No," Enjolras said, shaking his head. He didn't think it would do much at this point, anyways.

"Right," Grantaire muttered, putting some of the ointment onto a medical pad and gingerly placing it on the burn. Enjolras hissed, jerking at the feeling on his oversensitive skin, and Grantaire's expression twisted momentarily while he reached for some medical tape and secured the bandage on.

It was oddly intimate, the feeling of Grantaire's fingers lightly running along the now bandaged wound, as if he could still barely handle the thought. "Thank you," Enjolras murmured.

"N-Next time, just call me, okay?" Grantaire's voice was rough and pained.

Next time. Enjolras wasn't a fool, and he knew Grantaire was right. Of course there would be a next time, because Enjolras was a pyromaniac and he was getting worse by the day. But the thought of 'next time' still caused his heart to race. What if next time was a little more dangerous? What if next time _he_ wasn't the one getting hurt, but _other people_ were?

Enjolras stared at the ceiling. "You need to tell someone, Grantaire."

"Why would I — "

"Because I'm too much of a coward! Don't you think I'd do it myself if I — I could ... " His voice trailed off, thick with emotion that he desperately tried to bite back.

"And you honestly think I could? Do you even know what you do to me?" Grantaire exclaimed, and Enjolras stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What I do to you?"

Grantaire wouldn't meet his eyes, resolutely trained on anything but Enjolras. "Forget it, it's dumb. Come on, you can't stay in the bathroom forever."

Against all better judgement, Enjolras gripped him by his hoodie sleeve. "What do I do to you, Grantaire?" He knew he probably didn't want to know, but he asked anyways.

"You know you don't want to know that," Grantaire said, helping Enjolras up. It was ridiculous how Grantaire was carrying almost all of Enjolras weight, like he was infirm or incapable. It was ridiculous how Enjolras let him, leaning into Grantaire's warmth and breathing in his distinct scent.

Enjolras knew he was right, but the curiosity he felt still burned. Grantaire watched him closely as Enjolras swished mouthwash in his mouth once more, and he was still shaking when Grantaire lowered him to the bed, but he refused to lie down. His wrist still throbbed painfully, but it was easier to ignore now than before. He couldn't stand to look at the painting on his floor, water spilled over it and destroying it even further.

Grantaire walked over to it, crouching down and gingerly lifting it up. For a couple of moments, it was silent. Enjolras waited for Grantaire's rage, knowing that it was completely justified but still feeling haughty all the same. However, the sound of Grantaire's loud laughter was a surprise, and the dark haired man turned to Enjolras with a grin on his face. "Wow, this goes even beyond modern art, and that's saying something."

The joke was surprising — wasn't Grantaire supposed to be furious that Enjolras had burned hours and hours of his hard work and appreciation? "Aren't you — aren't you mad?" Enjolras asked incredulously.

"I mean," Grantaire began, standing up with the ruined painting and giving it little regard. "It's not like you meant to."

"I was there, Grantaire. I'm pretty sure I meant to," Enjolras said dryly, knowing he wasn't really helping his case all that much but not caring anyways.

"The urge doesn't count. I'm just — I'm just glad you're okay," Grantaire's voice broke a little towards his second sentence, and not for the first time Enjolras wondered just how much Grantaire loved him.

It was strange, the realization. He'd known before that Grantaire was in love with him, he'd known for months and months and resolutely ignored it. But now it seemed impossible to ignore — now it was tangible and obvious. How far he was willing to go for Enjolras. His worry. His desire. Even more startling than that realization was that Enjolras was beginning to feel the same.

It went beyond simple attraction, and he knew in that moment that he _liked_ Grantaire. A lot. It wasn't love. Enjolras had long figured he wasn't capable of that, but he could no longer deny his desire for the dark haired man.

And he couldn't even find the strength to be disgusted with himself anymore. Because now that he was finally noticing Grantaire, how could he not be attracted? With his ridiculous beanies and his sarcastic humor, and his unwavering loyalty — Enjolras couldn't even blame himself. Grantaire didn't seem to think he was that much of a catch, but Enjolras did.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire was suddenly close to him, giving him a concerned stare.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Enjolras couldn't bear to look at Grantaire with the knowledge of his own attraction. "I, ah. I should be fine now, if you'd like to leave."

Silently, Enjolras pleaded to any and every god that Grantaire would take the hint. But Grantaire just blinked at him for a couple of moments, expression incredulous. "Seriously? You'd think I'd leave _now?_ "

Well, in any case, it was worth a try. "No, but I'd like you to."

"Uh, why?"

Enjolras could tell him. He knew in that moment that it would be so easy, but then a thought struck him. He _had_  to tell Grantaire. It was a part of the promise he'd made, and he didn't want to break it, not for anything. Hiding it would only make it worse, anyways. He had to admit it, and then after that mortifying conversation it could return to normal.

Or, relatively speaking, as normal as his life could get with an obsession with fire.

"I think I like you. Romantically," Enjolras stated, abrupt and unceremonious. "I'd rather not do anything we'd both regret. I apologize if this is — unwanted in any way, and I suppose it'll go away on it's own in enough time — "

"Holy fuck," Grantaire interrupted, staring at him with wide eyes. "Are you — are you shitting me right now?"

Enjolras closed his eyes, pained. "Can you please take this seriously?"

"What the fuck?" Grantaire said eloquently.

"I just told you — "

"Romantically? What does that even mean? Like, dates or something — "

"Obviously not just dates, I've kissed you at least — "

"Holy fuck," Grantaire repeated, and they both lapsed into silence. His voice was high and hysterical when he spoke again. "You want to date me?"

"I — " Enjolras began, but he couldn't find the words to answer that without it being a mess. Yes, he wanted to date Grantaire, more than anything else. But he also knew he couldn't because of his ... obsession. So how could he answer it? " ... I'm not sure. Maybe."

Grantaire didn't say anything to that, and the only change in his expression was the growing desperation in his eyes. "Enj, I'm going to tell you right now for warning. I'm trying very hard not to kiss you right now, but I really fucking want to," Grantaire breathed, leaning down into Enjolras' space.

Enjolras didn't feel the urge at all, too distracted by the closeness of Grantaire's body and the weight of his gaze. If this was one way to distact himself from it, then who was he to deny both of them? Against his better judgement, instead of answering he grabbed a fistful of Grantaire's hair and pressed their mouth's together.

Before their kisses had been wild and unrestrained, but now it was different. It carried the same amount of urgency and desperation, without the rough and biting way they'd done before. Enjolras loved kissing Grantaire — it felt like everything in the world was right every time he did so.

He made a noise, pulling Grantaire closer and curling his fingers in those dark curls. When they finally parted for breath, Enjolras could hear Grantaire's fervent whispers against his lips. "God, fuck, Enjolras."

Enjolras licked his lips, not willing to give this up quite yet. He adored the way it made Grantaire shudder against him, and he was pulling him into another kiss before he even realized it. He didn't even notice when Grantaire's hand slid up into his hair until it was too late, and Enjolras gave a small moan and went utterly boneless into Grantaire's hand and mouth.

Grantaire was laughing slightly into the kiss, a tease and a provocation all at once. Enjolras retaliated by nipping at him, huffing in annoyance when their kiss broke once more. This time, he was content to lean just their foreheads together and gaze into Grantaire's eyes.

"Not going to run away this time?" Grantaire murmured, lips curved up.

"Do you want me to?" Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, not really," Grantaire admitted sheepishly.

Perhaps it was an awful idea, telling Grantaire the truth about his feelings. But he couldn't bring himself to regret it — not now. Not when Grantaire's breath was warm on his and they were so close, and the urge was as it had never been before. Completely gone.

As far as distractions went, Grantaire made a great one. And for awhile, it was nice just to hold him close and be comforted by his mere presence alone. He could tell himself all the reasons why this was wrong later.

But for now, he was content to just let it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enj is finally accepting his feelings! ... Kind of. Hope you enjoyed, comments and feedback are very much appreciated! **Title changed from "Southern Cross" to "Ignis", which is Latin for "Fire"**


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras always hated waking up in the morning.

Mornings were always awful, because there was always the uncertainty that the urge would be present, and he didn't know if it would be _that_ time that really did it. He never really was a morning person, anyways.

Enjolras woke up sweating profusely, and when he tried to move he was startled to find that he couldn't. Not only was there an arm slung around his chest, but the heavy weight of person lying half on top of his body, a leg thrown over his.

Barely refraining from throwing the person off and panicking, Enjolras calmed himself and hesitantly looked down, only to get a face full of dark frazzled curls. Grimacing, he pulled back and used his free arm to brush them down out of his face.

It was strange, waking up like this with Grantaire. He felt slightly relieved that his clothes were still, in fact, on. Not that he'd do ... that with Grantaire, but Enjolras really hadn't been in a good mental state last night.

Grantaire was making soft, sleepy sounds against his shoulder, face mashed into the material of Enjolras' shirt. A quick movement was made and Enjolras felt that the spot was slightly damp. He wasn't really bothered by the fact that Grantaire was drooling on him, but he was hot and more than a little uncomfortable.

He tried to move Grantaire so he could sneak out from under him, but the dark haired man made a small noise of protest and clung harder. Enjolras let out a sigh of disbelief, settling back down and absentmindedly stroking a hand through Grantaire's hair.

Enjolras didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember their kissing from last night. Just thinking about it made his face heat up, and he was thankful Grantaire wasn't awake to see it.

Much like a cat, Grantaire made a noise and curled closer, leaning into Enjolras' touch. Despite himself, Enjolras felt himself shake with silent, amused laughter.

It was a couple of minutes later when Grantaire woke up, his eyes opening blearily. He blinked at Enjolras for a couple of seconds, giving an incredulous and sleepy laugh as he laid his head back down. "Am I hallucinating?"

Enjolras' hand paused where it was running through Grantaire's hair, but it resumed soon enough. He smiled, though Grantaire couldn't see. "I don't know, you tell me."

"That sounds suspiciously like something a hallucination would say," Grantaire murmured, sounding like he was already half on his way to sleep. As an executive decision, Enjolras suddenly tugged on one of his dark curls, causing Grantaire to jerk awake again.

"If you fall asleep again, I'm pushing you off," Enjolras said, though it was an empty threat.

"Definitely not a hallucination then," Grantaire muttered, rolling off of Enjolras and palming at his eyes as he woke up. It took a moment for him to properly wake up, and he yawned and stretched much like a cat before his body tensed suddenly. He looked towards Enjolras, staring at him as if he were an apparition. "Sorry for, uh ... sleeping on you."

Enjolras blinked, then shook his head. "It's ... fine."

"Is that a wet spot on your shirt?" Grantaire sounded like he wanted to die. "Did I _drool_ on you?"

"It's really fine," Enjolras said, not confirming or denying anything. He wished he could tell Grantaire he found it endearing and save him the embarrassment, but Enjolras was still slightly embarrassed himself.

Grantaire made an incredulous noise, his head hitting the bed with a muffled thump as he laid down again. "I didn't even know I drooled. Fuck."

"You do," Enjolras replied easily, and Grantaire's head shot up to give him a confused look. Pursing his lips, Enjolras continued on. "At meetings, when you fall asleep," He explained.

"So _everybody_ knows I drool?"

"You snore sometimes too," Enjolras lied, biting his cheek to keep the amusement from his face.

Grantaire looked like he would prefer a quick and merciless death right then, but soon his eyes narrowed and he regarded Enjolras with a suspicious stare. "Okay, no, that's bullshit. You're fucking with me."

"How would you know?" Enjolras asked innocently. "You'd be asleep."

"I used to room with Eponine, remember? There's no way she'd put up with me snoring," Grantaire snorted.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, caught. Instead of replying, he got up and went to open the drapes of the nearest window. Light flooded in immediately, and Grantaire made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiss that was half satirical and half genuine.

"Warn a guy," Grantaire muttered, palming at his eyes.

Outside, the city was bright and vibrant with a rare sunny January day. The snow that had been on the ground had melted, and without the sight of bare trees it was easy to pretend like it was warm and summery. However, a quick touch to the window glass proved it was still as cold as any winter month.

Bracing himself for an awkward conversation, Enjolras turned around with finality and forced himself to meet Grantaire's eyes. "I was meaning to say thank you."

"By blinding me with sunlight? And for what, anyways?"

"For staying. I know I've been a burden ... and, it — it means a lot that you're taking the time to do this for me," Enjolras fumbled awkwardly, horribly aghast with himself for not forming a sentence without stuttering. What was Grantaire doing to him?

Grantaire was staring at Enjolras as if he had grown two heads. His expression contorted and he stood up, crossing the space between them and cupping Enjolras' face in a palm before Enjolras could turn away. It was strange how easy it was to show weakness around Grantaire. He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing.

"You're not a burden, Enjolras," Grantaire murmured, eyebrows furrowed. "Never have I thought of you like that."

"You should," Enjolras said, meeting his eyes with conviction. "I'm dragging you into something that won't end well for either of us."

Grantaire let out a small laugh, and it infuriated Enjolras and comforted him all at once. "Geez, I thought I was supposed to be the cynic here."

Enjolras went to reply with something, maybe something biting and cruel, but Grantaire stopped him short by bringing him forwards into a kiss that was so gentle and chaste that it made Enjolras' heart ache. His protests died, and Grantaire pulled him close.

It only last for a couple of seconds, and when Enjolras opened his eyes again, Grantaire was regarding him with a small smile. Enjolras never voiced those protests.

Soon, they were both heading towards the kitchen tiredly for coffee. It was still early enough in the morning that Enjolras' brain was still sluggish, and maybe then he would have thought of Combeferre and Courfeyrac being in. Unfortunately, just as they walked through the entryway, Enjolras saw them both a couple of seconds too late.

Courfeyrac dropped his glass of orange juice as he and Grantaire appeared, both of them sleep-tousled. Combeferre, who had been about to take a sip of his tea, paused the gesture halfway and just stared. Enjolras' throat went dry when he realized how this must look.

Enjolras walked in with an air of feigned nonchalance, Grantaire hovering awkwardly in the entryway. "Morning," He said lightly.

"Morning," Combeferre repeated, being the first to come back to himself. His face was still dubious with shock. "I didn't know Grantaire was in."

"He stayed the night," Enjolras replied lightly, beginning to make a fresh pot of coffee. Just pretend this wasn't the biggest shock in the world ...

"Ah. That makes sense," Combeferre still sounded puzzled and confused.

Grantaire hesitantly came through the kitchen, pulling out a chair next to Combeferre and wincing as it scraped against the tiled floor, the sound seemingly deafening loud in the awkwardly silent room. "Hullo," Grantaire said, stealing a piece of toast from Combeferre's plate and taking a bite.

"Good morning," Combeferre replied, going to take a sip of his tea as he flipped through the newspaper.

It was quiet again for another moment.

"OH MY GOD," Courfyerac cried, sounding distraught and happy all at once. Most of all, he sounded loud and confused. Enjolras worryingly thought of their neighbors. "Are we seriously not going to talk about this?"

"What is there to talk about?" Enjolras asked, leaning against the counter as the coffee brewed. There was plenty to talk about, but being around Grantaire this much was making him a master at deflecting.

"Did you two really — "

"No!" Grantaire was the one to exclaim it, his face completely red.

"Okay, I'm not saying I'm not happy for you two, I really am, but you literally just came out of his bedroom after _staying the night_. Will you please tell me what's going on?" Courfeyrac all but pleaded. He was cleaning up the mess he made with orange juice, seemingly making more of a mess than to begin with.

Enjolras stared at his feet, toes curling on the tiled floor as he contemplated an answer. What _were_ he and Grantaire? They'd kissed enough times, slept in the same bed twice, but ... they weren't dating, were they? Nothing official. But that would only cause Courfeyrac and Combeferre to worry, and he couldn't deal with that.

He didn't want to worry them. Enjolras wasn't a selfish friend — he'd done enough of that for one life time. He didn't even deserve their worry in the first place.

Enjolras swallowed. He knew what he had to do.

"Grantaire," Enjolras said, keeping his voice steady and level. "Don't you have work?" He kept his voice careful and casual, but put emphasis on the word 'work'.

Grantaire didn't actually have work, not that Enjolras knew of, and even though it took him a moment, Grantaire sat up a bit straighter and nodded. Grantaire was so clever, recognizing his cue to leave. "Fuck, yeah, I'm going to be so late. Shit, where are my shoes?" He got up and looked around, shucking his boots on unlaced. He was giving Enjolras a slightly confused expression.

Enjolras felt Courfeyrac and Combeferre's eyes on them as Enjolras exchanged his goodbyes to Grantaire, wishing he could whisper to just run along with it. It seemed Grantaire didn't even need to be told.

"Fuck, I'll see you later, right?" Grantaire asked hopefully, not bothering to hide or cover up it up, even when they were trying to put on an act.

Enjolras closed his eyes. "Maybe." He needed to seem callous.

Grantaire gave him a distraught look, and Enjolras felt his heart give a physical ache just at the sight of it. He forcefully reminded himself to text Grantaire later and explain.

When Grantaire left, Enjolras took a deep breath and tried to find a level of calm. He could do this. He turned back to the kitchen and walked in, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Grantaire and I are sleeping together," He said with finality.

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw Combeferre's fingers tighten around the newspaper and Courfeyrac's expression grow confused. "Like, as a ... couple?" Courfeyrac asked, looking like he dreaded the answer.

Do this right, Enjolras told himself. It was for the best. He could deal with his friend's anger, he could deal with them hating him ... But he couldn't handle their hurt and worry. It was better this way. "No. It's a casual thing."

Courfeyrac put a hand over his eyes and sat down in the nearest chair. Combeferre closed his eyes, setting down his newspaper and removing his glasses. Enjolras knew what to expect.

The angrier they were, the better.

"You know how he feels about you, correct?" Combeferre asked, though he knew Enjolras knew. Grantaire had never let his feelings be subtle. Courfeyrac was giving Enjolras an indecipherable look, like he couldn't believe that Enjolras could do such a thing.

"I'm aware," Enjolras said, taking a sip from his mug.

"But you said — "

"I lied."

God, he was lying about _lying_. How low could he go?

"Did you even see his expression when he left?" Courfeyrac sounded angry and hurt. He was so emphathetic, he was probably hurting along with Grantaire just thinking about it. "You're hurting him."

Enjolras swallowed, willing himself not to show weakness. "I know."

"You can't just — just — " Courfeyrac breathed, sounding distraught.

"Courfeyrac," Combeferre cut him off, taking a deep breath and pinning Enjolras with his gaze. "Is it for your own personal gain, Enjolras? Does it help the depression? At the cost of Grantaire's own mental state?"

Enjolras felt a pang, unable to hide the brief look of hurt that crossed his face. Combeferre was precise with his words, hitting them right where they would hurt. Enjolras knew he could be quite terrible, but Combeferre, under the right circumstances, could be as well.

"He agreed. He's not unwilling," Enjolras said. This argument was cutting too close to home, and he couldn't help but compare this to dragging Grantaire along in his pyromania. For the first time, Enjolras wondered about when he'd burn out, that if he'd burn Grantaire along the way too.

"He loves you," Courfeyrac's voice shook.

Enjolras needed to do this right.

"Perhaps if I didn't have friends who abandoned me, I wouldn't need to find someone else to hold me," Enjolras bit out, watching Courfeyrac's eyes widen in hurt.

"We're doing everything we can to help you," Combeferre said, eyes narrowed. "But if this is how you really feel, then I suppose we won't change your mind. Courfeyrac, I believe it's time for us to leave."

Courfeyrac looked conflicted. "But — Enjolras — "

Combeferre's gaze was briefly hurt, but he closed his eyes and recomposed himself. "His feelings are clear, Courf. I don't believe we could change his mind. We've done all we can."

Courfeyrac nodded, sending Enjolras such a look of raw hurt that Enjolras couldn't help but look away. He watched them go, feeling forlorn and tired and wishing Grantaire had stayed. They said nothing to him as they left, and Enjolras wondered if they would ever come back.

The apartment was eerily silent with them gone, and he thought it had something to do with the way they left. He'd been alone in the apartment multiple times.

He never remembered to text Grantaire back.

*****

Around seven thirty, Enjolras got his first text from one of their group members since Courfeyrac and Combeferre left. It was Bahorel, and Enjolras knew what it would be about before he checked it.

Other members of their group gave their opinions on what was going on, while Grantaire remained strangely silent. Some of their texts were angry, but Enjolras couldn't find it in himself to reply. He probably deserved this somehow.

With a start, Enjolras realized he never texted Grantaire back.

He tried calling Grantaire, but it went straight to voicemail.

Enjolras grabbed his jacket and he was gone. He knew it was stupid, but he had to find Grantaire. Grantaire wasn't answering any of his calls or texts, and god, he'd never even explained the situation to Grantaire, what was he thinking?

The city was cold and dark by the time he left the building, and he realized for the first time that he had no idea where to look. But Enjolras wasn't one to give up easily, so he began walking in a random direction, playing close attention to bars and other places where he thought Grantaire could be found.

But it was in a dark alleyway when Enjolras heard it, a quiet grunt and the sound of a fist hitting a body. He'd been to a couple of rally's before — the sound was unmistakable. Enjolras' heart was racing as he made the ill-advised choice of walking in to the alley.

The first thing he saw was Grantaire's shock of hair, more frazzled than usual, and his body swerving to avoid another punch as his feet gracefully carried him back. He parried, and Grantaire was impressive in the speed in which he gave his own punch.

The man he was fighting let out a grunt, and he cheaply threw out a leg, tangling his foot with Grantaire's ankle and tripping him. Grantaire fell with an oof, and something went off in Enjolras — he didn't have time to understand what, but adrenaline was racing through him and all he saw was red.

Before he knew was he was doing, Enjolras was throwing out a fist with all his strength and weight behind it. The man had hurt Grantaire, he was trying to hurt him, and a part of Enjolras blew up with rage. Enjolras had never really fought before, and he had no idea what he was doing, but he was throwing another punch out in quick succession.

The man seemed to recover faster than Enjolras thought, because suddenly his fist knocked Enjolras back, literally, splitting his lip and filling his mouth with the taste of blood. Grantaire was swearing, and Enjolras barely thought before he was throwing another punch and hitting the man square in the nose.

It sounded broken, and Enjolras was sickly pleased. It's no less what he deserved for hurting _Grantaire_.

"For fuck's sake, Enjolras," Grantaire managed out, holding Enjolras back as the man spat at him and turned away. He seemed shocked at Enjolras' strength, and Grantaire was barely able to hold Enjolras back from another punch. Blood dripped steadily from the man's nose.

"Piece of shit is stronger than he looks," The man snarled, holding his nose and stalking out of the alley. Enjolras watched him with an unwavering gaze until his form disappeared behind the wall and was gone. Only then did Enjolras relax slightly, feeling like a growling dog.

Grantaire's hands were on either side of his face, eyes focused on Enjolras' lip. It was still bleeding, and Enjolras absent-mindedly ran his tongue over it even as his blood boiled with rage.

"Enjolras, come on, it's alright — "

"He tried to hurt you," Enjolras snarled, fingers curling into fists, knuckles sore from hitting the man so hard.

"It was a bar fight," Grantaire explained with exasperation. Only then could Enjolras smell the tinge of alcohol on Grantaire's breath, but more concerning than that was the tightness aorund his lips. "It wasn't like I was in actual danger — Christ, look at your lip."

Grantaire's thumb swiped the blood off of Enjolras' lip, and he made a wounded noise. Enjolras assessed Grantaire's features, noticing that there wasn't a single mark on his face. Grantaire was alright. That was all that mattered.

Enjolras relaxed, moving to hold Grantaire close. He rested his chin on Grantaire's head and curled his arms around Grantaire's shorter form. "I meant to text you earlier. I'm sure you've heard from everyone what I said to Courfeyrac and Combeferre."

Grantaire froze, the fingers he had tangled in Enjolras' shirt clenching in the fabric. "You mean the part where you said we were fucking? That you're using me?"

It was ridiculous how those words sent a chill up his spine, Grantaire's tone venomous and angry even as he held Enjolras close. Enjolras swallowed, unable to understand why he didn't like upsetting Grantaire. "I need to push them away. It — it worked."

"So you're using me to do that?" Grantaire's arms tightened around him, his breathing wet and fast against Enjolras' neck. "Fuck you, Enjolras," He growled, even as his arms held Enjolras close.

Was he using Grantaire? Enjolras hadn't thought of it like that. Of course he didn't think Grantaire wouldn't mind, he knew there would be some conflict — it was Grantaire after all, but he hadn't realized the effect of his actions until just then. Enjolras suddenly felt ashamed of what he'd done, inconsiderate as it was.

When Grantaire spoke again, Enjolras closed his eyes and waited for Grantaire to say he was done with this. That he was done shouldering Enjolras' burden. But when he spoke, Grantaire's voice was full of both anger and passion. "You can't get rid of all your friends, fuck, they need you — I need you — you can't ... you can't just push everyone away! For fuck's sake, stop acting like this is a death sentence!"

It was a death sentence, and they both knew it now. Enjolras was getting worse, and he knew there wouldn't be much time now before he truly did something awful. Grantaire seemed to forget the fact that he was a pyromaniac, that he lost time and he set buildings on fire. But Enjolras could only be acutely aware. He didn't want to hurt his friends.

Most of all, he didn't want to hurt Grantaire.

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Enjolras said helplessly, slumping his shoulders and looking lost. It was the same defeated look he had when he'd first told Grantaire about the urge, and he didn't have the strength to hide it anymore.

Grantaire's eyes shone, with anger and rage and sadness. "Doesn't this hurt them too? Pushing them away?"

Enjolras closed his eyes. He didn't really know what to say to that, because on some level, he knew Grantaire was right. Still, he took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to master his voice so it wouldn't crack. "It's better this way. I shouldn't have let anyone get this close in the first place."

"You're saying you regret being friends with Combeferre? With _Courfeyrac_?"

Even Enjolras couldn't help but wince at those words, because of course Grantaire knew exactly how to call him out. He swallowed, opening his eyes. "I — "

"What do you expect them to think, if they'd find out?" Grantaire asked, and the very thought made a cold weight settle on Enjolras' chest. He always took care to make sure they'd never suspect, always avoided the thought that they'd find out. Grantaire continued on, voice gentle. "They wouldn't hate you. You know they wouldn't. You can't help it."

Was it showing weakness to other people? Enjolras couldn't even tell. He'd long given up avoiding weakness in front of Grantaire. That was a battle he would always be bound to lose. Grantaire made him weak. Grantaire _saw_ him weak, and he stayed. He helped Enjorlas, he devoted his time and his care so easily.

A part of Enjolras knew it was Grantaire's selfless personality, but the other part of him knew it was more than that.

Voice low, Enjolras spoke those words, the words he'd been thinking almost from the beginning. "Grantaire. What are we?"

He felt Grantaire tense up and pull back, saw the indecipherable expression he gave. Enjolras regarded him back in a wary manner, scared of the answer but anticipating in nonetheless. Grantaire was unpredictable, and he never seemed to realize how his words could both destroy Enjolras and pick him up again.

But Grantaire gave an incredulous huff, something that sounded like a bitter laugh, and Enjolras tensed up, expecting the worst.

"Enjolras. I'm so fucking in love with you," Grantaire breathed. "I — fuck, I've never told anyone. I mean, it's really fucking obvious, right? But you need to hear it. I don't think you realize what I'd do for you. What I'd be for you. Anything, Enjolras. Anything."

The last word was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, sending shivers up Enjolras' spine. Honestly, what had he expected?

The stars were faded and distant in the light of the city, but for all of that they shone above like they were waiting for this moment as much as Enjolras had been. He hadn't realized he'd been waiting for it until it was happening, and suddenly his future was unfolding with Grantaire — waking up together, holding each other through the worst of it, loving each other.

It wasn't a death sentence. Because Grantaire was there, and that was all that mattered.

Enjolras was speechless. He had no idea what to say — no words seemed to suffice.

"I can't hurt you," Enjolras breathed helplessly into the cold air, warmed by the heat of their shared breathing. "You can't love me."

"Watch me," Grantaire said with a conviction so unusual for him, and Enjolras had to kiss him. It was rare for Grantaire to speak like that, in such a passionate tone. With a start, Enjolras realized Grantaire only ever spoke like that when they were talking about _him_.

His lip was still bleeding sluggishly, but Grantaire didn't seem to mind, even when Enjolras pushed him against the nearest wall roughly and pressed their bodies together. Even when their lips parted, Enjolras never felt closer to Grantaire than he had before.

It was intoxicating, kissing Grantaire. It felt so right, like they were made for this together. He couldn't deny himself these advances any longer, not when they were the only thing that made him feel human anymore. It was the primal urge to be close to someone, and Enjolras wished he was better at controlling his urges.

Grantaire kissed the sting away from his split lip, holding Enjolras close as they breathed each other's air. Grantaire's eyelashes were a dark fan against his cheekbones, and when he opened his eyes to meet Enjolras' stare, Enjolras was overwhelmed as he thought of how beautiful Grantaire was.

He was lovely like this, strung out beneath Enjolras and staring at him with equal fervor.

The difference in color in his eyes was hard to tell in the dark lighting of the alleyway, but they were the eyes Enjolras adored, and he dragged Grantaire into another kiss, tangling a hand into those dark curls so that when Grantaire's head fell back, his head was cushioned against Enjolras' hand.

It was a release of pent up frustration and anger, but also gentle in turns. Enjorlas would bite at Grantaire's lip to show that he was angry, that he wanted to pull away and he couldn't. It was Grantaire who turned each kiss gentle, who slowed them down and replaced teeth with soothing lips. Enjolras was inexperienced in comparison, but he was quickly catching on.

When Enjolras moved, he could feel that Grantaire was hard in his torn jeans, straining against the fabric. He dizzily wondered if Grantaire had been similarily affected the other times they'd kissed. Grantaire felt Enjolras freeze, and he was swearing roughly under his breath. "Fuck, sorry, just like, ignore it — "

Enjolras didn't know what he was doing, but he was moving, shifting, testing the hardness of him.

Grantaire gave a startled moan when Enjolras placed a knee between Grantaire's legs, pushing his thigh up, just a test. The sounds Grantaire were making were rapturous, and Enjolras felt so strangely possessive in that moment. He wanted to give Grantaire pleasure, show what Enjolras could do to him — could _for_  him.

A part of all of this felt surreal, like it was just some strange dream that Enjolras would wake up from any second. But the feeling of Grantaire curling against him was all too real, and it was easy to ignore the cold, wintery air as the air around them grew warm. If this was a dream, Enjolras hoped he would never wake.

Meanwhile, Grantaire was a helpless mess as Enjolras rutted his thigh against him. He was writhing against Enjolras, clutching his jacket and gasping brokenly into his neck. "Oh god, fuck, Enjolras." Grantaire sounded just as shocked as Enjolras felt at what was transpiring.

Enjolras didn't know what to say. He just knew he liked those sounds, and the way Grantaire's voice desperately said his name. ( _His_ name.)

"Good?" Enjolras asked, wishing he knew what to do with his hands. One brushed back the sweaty strands of hair from Grantaire's face, and the other was useless at his side. He didn't have the courage to reach down, maybe make this better for Grantaire somehow.

That didn't even seem to matter, because the dark haired man was already a mess in his arms.

Grantaire was straining against him, so hard and desperate that sweat made inky curls stick to his skin. Enjolras found he liked the look.

Grantaire's eyes were wide, his face was flushed and as he made small little twitches. His expression was a shock, and Enjolras felt a wave of heat course through him at the look Grantaire was giving him. His cheeks were flushed, mouth open as the pleasure and shocked overwhelmed him, like he couldn't believe Enjolras was doing this for him. "It's so good — so good — Shit, I'm — "

"Say my name," Enjolras breathed, needing to hear it like before. "Say it."

"Fuck, Enjolras!" The cry Grantaire gave was loud and unrestrained, and he clutched at Enjolras desperately while his hips twitched against Enjolras, riding the aftershocks of it. Then he slumped uselessly against him, all tension leaving his body as he panted fast and breathed Enjolras in.

Enjolras slowly lowered them both down so that they were sitting against the alley wall together, Grantaire sprawled uselessly in his arms, almost in his lap. Enjolras stroked his hair, not letting himself think about what they'd just done. His head was angled up, staring at the stars.

Enjolras heard rather than felt Grantaire clumsily reaching for his belt, and he quickly grabbed Grantaire's wrist to pry his hand away. Grantaire gave a confused, drowsy noise, and Enjolras looked down at him.

Enjolras was hard too, but he still held Grantaire's hands away. "I'll blow you," Grantaire breathed against his neck, and Enjolras shuddered. "Let me, I can do this, let me do this for you — "

"No," Enjolras said, voice much more collected than Grantaire's, whose was hoarse and tired. "Not ... not here."

"Please," Grantaire whispered, sounding like he knew the answer already but didn't want to believe it. "I'm good at it."

Instead of answering, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire's chin and pulled him into another kiss. Grantaire's mouth moved clumsily, like he couldn't make his tongue move properly. Grantaire was utterly boneless in his arms.

When they pulled away, Enjolras pressed another kiss to Grantaire's forehead and shook his head. "Not like this."

"Oh, so making me come in my pants in under two minutes is totally okay though?" Grantaire murmured sarcastically against Enjolras skin, and despite himself, Enjolras huffed out a laugh. When Grantaire shifted a bit, he grimaced. "You seriously couldn't have taken my pants off?"

"It didn't occur to me, no," Enjolras said, taking a deep calming breath to try and fight off the beginning panic of what he'd just done. He went to go and sit up, but Grantaire made a noise of protest and whined. "Grantaire, we can't stay here."

"We could totally stay here, you're like a fucking furnace," Grantaire murmured fondly, impossibly drowsy despite being outside in the cold.

Enjolras sighed and began to sit up, dragging a grumbling Grantaire with him. He thought briefly about their surroundings and decided that Grantaire's apartment was closer. And Enjolras didn't feel like he wanted to go back to his anyways, not when he'd have to risk seeing Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Was he being a coward? Did it even matter anymore?

"Come on, R," He said, only realizing a second too late that he'd used the nickname. Grantaire didn't seem to catch it, huffing dramatically and standing up with a grimace. "Your place isn't too far."

Enjolras was thankful that it was night and there was nobody out. It wasn't so much that he looked like a mess, but _Grantaire_ did. And Enjolras found he didn't much care for the thought of other people seeing Grantaire like this, so he hurried Grantaire to his apartment and let out a sigh of relief when they got through the door.

Just as soon as they entered though, Grantaire rounded on him and slammed him against the door as soon as it was shut. Enjolras made a shocked sound, angry, and he went to ask Grantaire what his problem was when his protests died on his tongue. Grantaire was lowering himself down reverently, like he'd been dreaming of this moment for forever.

He probably had.

Enjolras was still half hard, a slightly noticeable tent in his own jeans. His heart pounded ferociously in his chest, and he'd never done this before — he still didn't know if this was a good idea, but Grantaire was working at his belt, lifting Enjolras' shirt up to bare a hipbone to mouth kisses against while his hands worked at the buckle.

"Grantaire — " Enjolras began, and his voice had never sounded that high pitched before. It was embarrassing, and he didn't know what to do. The sight of Grantaire down near _that_ part of him was almsot too much to bear, and Enjolras had to close his eyes tightly for a moment, even though the mental image was burned into his mind.

Grantaire looked up through his lashes, eyes completely dialated and face wanton. "D'you not want to?"

Enjolras wanted to. He had been hardening steadily ever since Grantaire lowered himself down, but his heart still beat fast and god, he was like a skittish virgin. Why was this such a problem for him, when he had been so careless to offer Grantaire pleasure?

He averted his eyes from inquiring Grantaire's gaze, feeling his face heat and his fingers twitch uselessly at his sides. "I've — I've never — "

Grantaire stared at him incredulously. "Never?" He echoed in disbelief.

"I haven't exactly been focused on physical pursuits, between political acitivsm and pyromania," Enjolras said wryly, but he swallowed all the same. He felt terribly inexperienced, and he still knew that somewhere distantly this was a bad idea. But god, did he want for Grantaire.

Grantaire slowly removed his hands. It gave Enjolras the chance to clear his mind for a bit, while Grantaire looked at him expectantly from on his knees. As an executive decision, Enjolras slowly guided Grantaire up so that they were kissing again. He was embarrassed for his cowardice, for being unable to do it.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras muttered, feeling humiliated.

The words Grantaire murmured against his comforted him nonetheless. "It doesn't have to be now. Whenever you're ready."

They ended up tangled in Grantaire's bed, and Enjolras stared up at the ceiling as Grantaire slept next to him. The usual shame he would be feeling for what he'd done was gone. He just didn't have the energy to feel it anymore.

He just couldn't regret it.

Whenever he was ready, was what Grantaire had said. Like they had all the time in the world.

Enjolras knew they didn't.

*****

Enjolras woke up to the shrill sound of his phone going off, and Grantaire groaned quietly next to him and buried his face into the sheets. Enjolras grimaced at the sound, scrubbing a hand down his face for a couple of moments. He fumbled around for a his phone, and barely picked it up in time to answer, unable to check who the caller was.

Courfeyrac's voice filled the line, resolved and quiet. "I'm moving in with Ferre."

Enjolras laid in the bed, Grantaire asleep at his side, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked for a moment, a cold weight dropping into his chest and settling there like a stone. But this was what he wanted, wasn't it? He told himself to be callous, to retreat back to his usual frost. He could do this.

"Alright," Enjolras said, counting the cracks in the ceiling. That didn't seem safe. He'd have to tell Grantaire when he woke up.

"Just like that?" Courfeyrac asked, sounding like his resolve was already crumbling. "You're not even going to try and convince me to stay?"

Enjolras licked his lips. Fourteen cracks in the ceiling. That was a lot. _You're never around anyways,_ was what he wanted to say, but he didn't have it in him. "No."

"Come on, Enj. Ferre and I can meet up with you, maybe we can talk about all of this, I don't — " Courfeyrac cut himself off.

"What's there to talk about?" Enjolras asked thickly. "You're moving in with Ferre. You disapprove of my relationship with Grantaire. I won't stop you."

"What about the meetings?" Courfeyrac pleaded.

"I won't come," Enjolras stated, feeling a false sense of calm. Everything was falling apart. Were the cracks on Grantaire's ceiling always there? Were they recent?

"You know we care about you. You know we're so worried. Nobody wants to abandon you, Enjolras. We all love you — "

Enjolras' phone died. He stared at the blank screen for a moment, thinking, considering.

He stared at the cracks in the ceiling. He'd miscounted. There were sixteen.

Well, fuck.

He quietly got out of Grantaire's bed, thankful the dark haired man wasn't clinging to him for once as he toed his shoes on silently. Enjolras sent the bed one last longing look before he shook his head, heart racing as he tiptoed through the house and figured out how to make Grantaire's coffee pot work.

Hopefully it would still be warm by the time he woke up.

Coffee brewing, Enjolras slipped out into the cold morning air, the sky just beginning to illuminate. It was around seven then.

Enjolras walked home without a care of if he'd have to face his friends. But as his hand came in contact with the doorknob, a broken sound came from behind the door, and Enjolras froze. His heart beat fast as he heard Courfeyrac's voice.

"He hung up on me! I told him we all loved him, and — and — "

"Shhh, I know love," Combeferre's gentle voice said, and Enjolras let go of the doorknob. He stayed there for a moment, listening. It was wrong, but what was the point of even doing the right thing anymore? He'd abandoned his ideals, his friends, Grantaire.

What did he have left to lose?

"Enjolras is going through something," Courfeyrac said helplessly. "Why won't he let us help him? Why won't he tell us, Ferre?"

"I don't know," Combeferre admitted. "I ... I don't know."

Enjolras stood there, listening to his friend's private conversation, considering for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, he twisted the doorknob and walked inside.

Both of their eyes were on him immediately, and Enjolras fought the urge to shrivel up under their scrutinizing stares. He didn't care to look at their expressions and see the judgement, the anger, the confusion. Instead, he slowly lowered himself against the door, sliding down and burying his hands in his hair.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were up in an instant, coming to his side and studying him. Enjolras saw that they were both looking at his lip, which still stung if he ran his tongue over it. He gave an small, bitter laugh and pulled out his phone, dropping it uselessly onto the floor next to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac jumped at the sound.

"It died," Enjolras closed his eyes and the hand he had in his hair tugged harder. The pain grounded him, like the distraction Grantaire's kisses made. He tugged harder, and wondered if he was going to be sick.

Combeferre was gently pulling Enjolras' hand out of his air, taking care to unhook his fingers in the curls. "It's going to be okay, Enjolras. Do you think you can make it to the couch?"

Enjolras didn't answer.

Courfeyrac was gently petting his hair. "I'll make you tea. Do you want me to call Jehan?"

Enjolras stared at him blankly. "Does Jehan still care about me?"

A brief expression of pain crossed Courfeyrac's features, but he was nodding vigorously. "Of course he still cares. We all do. You know we do."

"I never used Grantaire," Enjolras said, because it seemed important. He didn't quite know what he was feeling at the moment, but he wanted to get his point across. Grantaire had been right — he was causing them as much pain by pushing them away. "I lied."

"Why?" Combeferre asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Enjolras clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. He didn't know how he could possibly explain this to them without seeming weak, but Grantaire was teaching him that it was okay to be weak to your friends. There were worse things he could do, in any case.

Enjolras swallowed before speaking. "I thought that if you hated me, I wouldn't worry you all as much. I thought I was being selfish, concerning you so much and hurting you. I thought ... it would hurt less if you thought I was the type of person to use somebody like that. That it would make all of this easier," Enjolras paused to laugh bitterly. "But look where that got me."

"Oh, Enj," Courfeyrac whispered, petting a hand through Enjolras' hair. Together, they all made their way over to the couch, Enjolras curling in on himself the moment he got there.

Combeferre's eyes were shining with worry behind his glasses. "Will you tell us?"

"Please tell us," Coufeyrac begged.

What would be the harm in telling them, after all? He was already well near the bottom of his fall, and he was already hurting them more than he'd ever wanted to.

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, so the rating definitely went up. I'm so sorry this chapter took so long, I really don't have an excuse other than procrastination. Also, I'm really sorry about the cliffhanger, but we'll see how that goes, eheheh?
> 
> **the hiatus may actually mean it's discontinued, but I'm not sure. I definitely know I won't be updating this soon, mostly due to lack of feedback and feeling like it's not worth writing anymore, but if you have any questions about anything, you can message me! If you did comment, thank you, you're probably the main reason why I even got this far, haha.


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